Creep
by MochaInTheSun
Summary: "Don't kiss me", he breathes out, "I'll die if you kiss me".AU Finchel, inspired by "Creep" by Radiohead and "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov .
1. The Cat

**Don't own Glee, if I did, Finn and Rachel would have had a bunch of kids with Kurt and Blaine as their Godparents by now. Oh and yeah, Cory would always wear uniforms of all kinds and he would always be rocking his scruff.**

…::::…..

_You're here before_

_Couldn't look you in the eye_

_You're like an angel_

_Your skin makes me cry_

_**i.**_

He is happy with his new apartment.

It isn't big – it has a bedroom, a bathroom, a tiny kitchen and another small room for every other purpose. But it's cozy and decorated nicely, nothing too flamboyant, too bright. He likes the atmosphere it brings, the vintage wallpaper, the grey curtains with purple stripes, the empty flower vase and the grey sofa. It fits him, really. The thing he loves most about the apartment is the location. It's on the rooftop of a small and old New York building, the kind of building with beautiful decorative details at the entrance, the kind of building that speaks New York. He has a thing for vintage; he just didn't know it before. He loves how it is almost always so peaceful and quite here, the people in the building seem to care about nothing but themselves. It's fine to him, really, he prefers it that way. Being a writer, he loves being able to live in his own little world, occasionally, the noise from the busy streets will wake him up and on a lucky day, he will be able to find something to be his muse, something for him to write about, to be passionate about, to love. At the age of 23, he has published two books – nothing too racy or too boring, they were all _adequate_.

He lights a cigarette and steps to the balcony, gazing at the shining stars above. His mother always said that stars were people who had gone to heaven. He wonders if it was true or not, if it was, his father must be up there somewhere.

A noise suddenly pulls him away from his thoughts.

"Meow…"

He turns around and sees a pair of green eyes staring at him.

"Hey there…" – He smiles at the cat, notices how his body is trembling. It must be the New York wind.

He puts out the cigarette, bends down to pat the cat's head, chuckles as it rubs its head in his rough hand.

"You seem to like it a lot, huh?" – He coos, then picks up the little thing and takes a good look at it – "Male."He then notices a pendant around its neck. "Barbra?" He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, looks at the cat sympathetically, "Who would name a male cat Barbra?"

The cat mews in response, as if it was agreeing with whatever he says.

"You don't like that name, do you?"

Suddenly, someone knocks on his door, abruptly ends his bonding time with Barbra.

He looks at his watch and is surprised to see it's almost midnight. As he's making his way to the door, he can't help but wonder who it may be, and he plays scenarios in his head, suspecting the worst.

He opens it slightly and sees a familiar face of a man – he can't recall him, but he is certain they have met before.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

The man adjusts his glasses nervously and speaks up:

"Hello, my name is Hiram Berry. I am terribly sorry for disturbing you at this time."

"I'm Finn, it's can I help you?"

"My daughter's cat has gone missing, and she's been sick for a couple of days but she won't go back to bed until we find him and…"

As Hiram's explaining, the cat jumps off from Finn's embrace and rushes through the door. A little girl appears from behind Hiram and the little thing immediately jumps into her arms.

"Barbra! See, Daddy, I knew he was here! I knew it!"

"Erm…" – Hiram points at the little girl and tells Finn, "This is my daughter, Rachel."

Hearing her name, the girl turns around and looks at Finn with the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen.

She extends her little hand to Finn, and he chuckles as he takes it.

"My name is Rachel Barbra Berry, ten years old, future Broadway star."

Finn cocks one of his eyebrows at her, and then looks at her father.

"She's quite ambitious for her own good." – Hiram smiles and picks his daughter up, who is holding the cat so tight Finn's actually concerned for its safety.

Finn looks at the girl again, and smiles at her: "I'm Finn Christopher Hudson, free-lance writer."

"What does it mean?"

"It means that I can write whatever I like, for whomever I want."

"That's quite intriguing."

"Are you sure you're ten?"

Rachel giggles at Finn's words, yawns a little bit.

"Okay, sweetie, let's put you to bed. Thank you, Mr. Hudson."

"Oh, please, call me Finn. I insist. I'm not that old."

"Thank you, Mr. Finn!" – Rachel smiles, eyes closed, and Finn suddenly feels unexplainable warmth rushing through his heart as he looks at her.

"Be good, Broadway star. I'll see you around."

Hiram nods at Finn then with Rachel, already fallen asleep in his arms, walks away. Finn watches until the two figures disappear down the stairs.

_**ii.**_

The second time Finn sees her, she's crying at the bottom of the stairs.

At first he didn't recognize her, until she looks up at him. He can never mistake those gorgeous eyes anywhere.

He puts the groceries bag aside and kneels down in front of her:

"Hey, Rachel, right? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Finn looks at her closely to find any signs of injury and is glad to find nothing.

"What does the word faggot mean?"

Finn furrows his eyebrows, "Rachel, it's a bad word, you shouldn't be saying that! Who told you that?"

"Some kids at school" – She sobs out the words, her eyes are red and puffy – "They say that my Daddy is a faggot. They say that it's disgusting."

Finn sighs, the world is as shitty as ever.

"Hey, your father is a great man, okay? You don't listen to those kids, ever, alright?"

"They call me crazy, too. Am I crazy?"

"Yeah, you are."

She begins to cry harder.

Finn tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and asks softly:

"But you know what?"

Rachel slowly shakes her head as Finn puts both his hands on her shoulder:

"All the best people are."

Rachel widens her eyes in surprise, then nods her head and stands up. Finn hands her a tissue to wipe the tears off her face, and a couple of minutes later, she begins to talk animatedly about her other friends at school, about a pretty girl named Quinn who shares her food with Rachel, about a kid named Noah who likes to pull at her ponytail but he's actually nice to her, about her favorite teacher, Mr. Shue. Finn listens to every word she says, and he finds himself talking to her too. About his books, about his favorite songs, movies, about her cat and how he doesn't understand why she names a male cat Barbra. She just shrugs and tells him that the cat likes that name. He laughs as she tells him that she maybe developing a gift, like Doctor Doolittle. He says he doesn't know that movie and she looks scandalized, she tells him he's missing out on too much. He laughs again and really, he thinks she's much more mature than he ever was at her age.

They stop talking as she reaches her apartment. Hiram opens the door and he seems surprised to see Finn again. As Rachel goes straight into the house to find Barbra, Finn tells Hiram the story Rachel told him and watches as the man slowly nods his head, a tear rolls down on his face. He thanks Finn and offers him a cup of tea.

"Thanks,but I've got work to do, so, maybe next time."

_**iii.**_

The next time Finn sees her, she's helping her Daddy with all the little boxes in front of the building.

"Hey, Broadway star, what are you doing there?" – He smiles at her as he takes the box from her and helps her carry it to the truck.

"We're moving to Chicago." – Rachel says, eyes at the ground.

"Chicago? Why?" – He can't help but feel his heart sinks a little at her words.

"Daddy's got a big promotion – which he says is a very good thing. Mr. Finn…"

Rachel tugs at his sleeve, and looks up at him with sad eyes:

"Is Chicago beautiful? I mean, Daddy said it was, but maybe he was just saying it, you know, because he wants me to just be happy." – Sometimes, Rachel is way too smart to be 10.

He kneels in front of her and gives her a genuine smile:

"It's called Windy City, did you know that? It's a really great place, I've lived there before actually. It's not the same as New York, but it's nice. You'll like it."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Finn?"

"One day, maybe."

"Cross your heart?"

Finn nods and crosses his heart.

"Cross my heart."

Rachel beams at him and runs to her father's car as he's calling for her.

Finn watches as the car disappears at the corner of the busy street of New York.

One day is almost the same as never.

Almost.

**Tbc**

_**A/N:**_

_I'm a rainbow person in real life (no, seriously, I'm as high as a kite all the time)but I don't know how to write rainbows(TT^TT), I tried, but failed epically, so I do what I do better, writing angst! _

_Please, my beautiful, gorgeous readers, I need to see your reviews pop up on my screen! More reviews, more viewers, the happier I am, the better I write!_

"_Creep" by Radiohead, oh my God, what a beautiful song!_

_I kinda stole a line from "Alice in Wonderland"(_"_). I couldn't help it!_

_Thank you! Til next time!(^v^)_


	2. Faces In The Crowd

_**Chapter 2: Faces In The Crowd**_

_**i.**_

He can't remember the last time he slept with a woman. The fire, the rush, the desire, the slowly unfolding of the coil in his stomach, the release; he misses them all.

Hence his being undressed by her tonight.

Her name is Monique; she answered him with the little singing voice. Her face is carefully done with little make-up; the sheer, white blouse does little to hide the voluptuous body of hers. He watches her kneel in front of him, dark eyes looking up at him under long eyelashes, skilled fingers unbuttoning his shirt and jeans. He stops her hands for a moment, pulls her up to look into her eyes. She seems to be surprised by his action, but then she touches him there and he lets her control him.

When they're finished, she stands up and puts her clothes back on with an incredible speed. He asks to meet her again; he wants to know her this time, at a coffee shop, tomorrow night. She takes his money and she swears that she has never stood someone up throughout her young lifetime.19 years old, she told him.

He says she is kind for agreeing to meet him again; she just shrugs and lets him know that prostitutes like her would do anything for good money. Her face is still wearing a smile, but sadness is dripping from her voice.

The second time they have sex, she asks him if he likes her to leave her heels on, and whether or not he wants her to give him a blow-job.

Later, when they are walking on the wet and dirty pavements, her heels making these feminine "clacking" noises, she runs in front of a shop's glass window, and says enthusiastically, "_Je vais m'acheter un chapeau mignon_(I'm going to buy myself a cute hat)!" She turns to him and her cheeks are turning pink, she apologizes for her sudden slip of words. She loops her arm around his and leans her head on his shoulder, and with a solid French accent, she tells him she misses home. "Paris", she says. He tells her he loves Paris. She kisses his cheek.

When she's almost naked, with her white cottons panties still on, he stops her. He tells her that she should go, and he still pays her. She looks at him with her wide, almost innocent brown eyes and huffs, "Américain."

He puts his jeans on, no shirt, and lights up a cigarette. He takes out a pen and begins to write, but meaningless words float onto the papers, nothing more. He burns them with the tip of his cigarette, and watches the ashes flying away, like fairy dust.

_**ii.**_

He sees Rachel again in the month of June.

He rarely takes a walk in June. He doesn't like the warm weather, he doesn't like the sunlight painting everything with this glorious shade of gold, the busy streets with crowds of exciting young students, the smiles and satisfied looks on people's faces. He doesn't like them, no; he doesn't like summer at all.

Anyhow, he spots her face among the crowd.

He almost trips as he realizes her. She looks so grown up, her hair is much longer now, and it's beautiful – long, flowing flocks with a fringe. White blouse tied in front of her belly, and knee-length plaid skirt, with penny loafers and socks, pink backpack.

He holds in a breath as she passes by.

She never looks back.

_**iii.**_

He's reading Vladimir Nabokov when his doorbell rings (he likes the sound of the bell, a lot).

He opens the door and she squeals, "Mr. Finn! Oh my God, I'm so glad you're still here!"

She jumps up and wraps her arms around his neck, suffocates him with her sweet smell and her giggles.

He can't even say a simple "Hello."

_**iv.**_

"How do you know that I'm still here?"

"I don't, most of the people I know have moved out of this building, actually. I just hope that you still live here."

"You look different."

"You haven't seen me in 6 years, Mr. Finn. Of course I look different. You don't, actually."

"I don't what?"

"Look different. Still as handsome as I remember."

She tilts her head aside and laughs.

"You moved back to New York?"

"Yep, my old man's getting married to a New Yorker!"

"Your daddy's getting married? Who's the lucky guy?"

"Leroy, he's an old friend of my Dad's. Rich and powerful."

He cocks an eyebrow at her and stands up to make them some tea.

"Rich and powerful? That's all you can say about your soon-to-be stepdad?" – He says without looking up, pouring hot water into the cups. She follows him into the small kitchen, stretches on her tip toes to reach for the box of Harney and Sons.

He chuckles as he stands behind her, watches her struggle to get to the top shelf, her skirt hikes up and her olive skin glowing, the joint at her knees flexing.

He looks away almost immediately, then he comes closer to her, easily takes the box and hands it to her. She looks up at him and furrows her eyebrows, her lips pouting.

"What?"

"You're so tall."

"And?"

"I'm short. Really short."

"And?"

"What do you mean and? I'm vertically challenged!"

"Did that ever stop you from being amazing? I don't think so."

She gives him a smile and he feels great.

_**v.**_

It's become a routine for both of them.

Classes finish at 4pm, she rides her bike to his building, parks somewhere nearby and takes the stairs to his apartment. He wants to ask her why she doesn't use the elevator, but on second thought, that won't be very safe since the elevator is not as good as before. She comes in, he stops his writing or reading and makes them some tea, or coffee, sometimes. She puts both her legs on his couch, and makes a mess out of his scattering papers. She pulls of her penny loafers and he sits down next to her, continues to read with his glasses (she tells him he looks so old with glasses). She scoots closer to him after a few times, and he gives her a pillow to rest her back on. She does her homework, he reads or writes, she interrupts him by using her feet to poke his book or paper, and he furrows his eyebrows in annoyance and he tells her to stop. She sticks her tongue out at him and focuses on her homework again, but this time it's his turn to disturb her. He throws a pillow at her and she gasps, next thing he knows his papers are all over the place and she's laughing so hard, her chest heaving when she lets out a deep sigh. He finds himself staring at her sometimes, when she suddenly changes position, her skirt will let him see a bit of skin – the expanse of the most magical color of skin he has ever seen. He bets it's smooth and soft, too. She has this habit of biting the end of her pencil when she's thinking; her white teeth plunging into the soft wood, her eyebrows furrow, a drop of swear forming on her forehead, shining as the light shines upon them. She throws her head back, her eyes at the ceiling and the movements of the veins on her neck mesmerize him.

She catches him staring once.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I'm not."

"Really?" – She puts her book and pencil aside, stretches her legs just a little bit, her feet barely touches his arm.

"I'm staring into an infinite space and you happen to be in it."

She laughs and moves closer to him, her hair falling around his shoulder.

"What are you reading? Something dirty?"

She yanks the book from his hand and furrows her eyebrows in concentration; he tries to get it back. He leans over her, his chin touches the top of her head.

"Hey, give it back!"

She pushes him with one hand, still reading from the book.

"It's in French." – She turns around, their faces so close together, he feels her breath hot on his skin.

"Yeah, well…" – He yanks it back successfully and moves away from her, his heart strangely beating faster in his chest – " I know French."

He puts his glasses on and tries to focus again.

She takes one of her socks of and rests her feet near his lap, pokes him with her bare foot.

"I'm bored."

"Do your homework."

"Gee, Mr. Finn, you're not my dad, remember?"

"Well, I'm 13-year older than you, so…"

Silence.

He looks at her and her eyes are so dark.

She shifts a little bit; he sees the expanse of the sweet color of olive skin again.

He looks back at her and he knows she sees him looking at her thighs. She bites her lips just a little and stands up, gathering her stuff around them. She brushes past him a few times by doing so, and she hums a melody he can't recall, then skips out of the apartment.

She doesn't drop by the next day.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

A week.

Two weeks.

She never comes back.

**Tbc**

…**.::::….**

_**A/N:**_

**Oh my Glee, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! I feel pretty and happy! **ヾ（＠＾▽＾＠）ノ

**Lolita, okay, that is one hell of a book, a very controversial one, too. But I love the writing and the characters so much. I will not portray Finn as a pedophile, never, but I will only approach the moral base of age difference(arghhh,sounds so serious) **( ≧Д≦)

**It will get "hotter" in the next few chapters, our Rachel is quite a rebellious soul.**

**Reviews, please please! Tell me what you guys think! Thank you so much!**


	3. Lolita

_**Chapter 3: Lolita  
**_

_**i.**_

He walks past a bookstore one day and he thinks he sees her.

He thinks he sees her every where nowadays. Times Square, the coffee shop next to his building, sometimes when he's really desperate, Central Park. Brown hair, brown eyes, one-thousand-watt smile, the gleam in her eyes, olive skin glowing; he misses everything about her.

Maybe if he has a girlfriend, it will be less torturing. He thinks that the caring hands, the soft touches and normal couple – y stuff will somehow help him forget about a certain pair of brown eyes and splendid olive skin; bare knees rubbing each other in impatience; the gracefulness of the curves of her heels.

He's on his way for a second date with a girl he met at his publishing company when he realizes he has forgotten his phone, so he mutters cursing words and runs back to his apartment.

He doesn't even know how Rachel gets into his place, wearing a cropped top and a pair of ripped jeans shorts, knee-high socks, her black flats behind the door. She's lying on her back on his sofa, with one hand covering her face, the other resting on her belly. She's like a mirage to him, really, the image made by the desperation of a wanderlust travelling in the heat and dust of golden sands in the hottest and furthest desserts.

She doesn't even look at him when she says "Spare key under the flower pot", but when he comes closer to her and holding his breath, he sees that she's smiling.

"Hi, Finn" – she says again, this time she pulls her hand away and turns to look into his eyes.

And in the beautiful atmosphere painted by golden shades of dancing sunlight, resonant sounds of New York and of life drifting by slowly but surely, he knows he loves her then, he loves her always. She will not always be like this – this beauty which is a perfect combination of innocence and playfulness of a child, the grace and softness of a woman and somehow the slight vulgarity of all the exposed women in the papers and on TV – his Rachel, his 5 feet 3 girl who's burgeoning magnificently, and he feels disgusted by guilt and exhausted by trying to feel differently about her.

She stands up in front of him and holds him close, buries her face into his shoulder. His heart's dancing, his blood's rushing; he wishes he had all the shining words of all the poets in the world to describe how he feels when she holds him like this.

He stood somebody up for the first time in his life that day.

_**ii.**_

He's watching her eat with such joy and eagerness; a small spot of cream sticks at the corner of her pink lips.

"Where were you, Rachel?"

"I was sent to an all – girl school, can you believe it? Apparently Leroy thinks that by doing that, somehow I will stop being such an annoying, ungrateful and spoiled brat." – She says all of this without looking up – "Finn, if writing doesn't work out for you, you should consider being a cook, cuz these are just so good!"

"What are you doing here, Rachel?"

"My Daddy couldn't stand being away from me any longer, so I'm back."

"In my apartment."

She stops chewing, swallows her food, swipes her mouth quickly with the napkin and reaches across the table to plant a kiss on his left cheek.

"I miss you." – She says and shrugs, sits back and continues eating, as if it was the most natural thing to do.

_**iii.**_

They repeat their routine.

She comes to his place, he makes them something to drink, now she also asks him to make her some food, she says she's had enough of eating crappy stuff at her old school. He's taking a break from writing – his last book was a fairly successful one – he's spending more time reading, all his favorite authors, Bunin, Nabokov, and Marquez. He's fixed his apartment, more spacious and edgier this time; she actually likes the new color a lot; he has a bigger desk in his bedroom, so he chooses to sit there and reads, he can't risk being so close to her again.

But he listens to her movements, the softness of her slender fingers on pages, the non-stop swinging of her legs, the sweet singing of a certain melody. He imagines her, he imagines the way her body moves, the way each and every bone in that wonder of God functions – the slightest cracking sound; how it sounds like when she gulps, how her neck moves – the beautiful glistening hot skin with sweats.

He lets his door slightly opens; he's always secretly hoping she will barge in one day, and decoys him with all of her beauty.

He sees her peeking through the door, and she makes these noises to let him know she's there: she stomps her feet a few times, she sings, she's doing it to make him invite her in, but he doesn't.

One day she walks into his room and plops down on the big chair across his table and grunts, cursing under her breath.

"Language." – He says without looking up from his book.

She sticks her tongue out at him and takes of her socks, swaying slowly to stand next to him.

"I need your help with my homework."

"What is it?"

"I need to write an essay about Humbert Humbert, you know, the pedophile in "Lolita"."

"He's more like a child – lover."

"So you can help me, right?"

"_Humbert was perfectly capable of intercourse with Eve, but it was Lilith he longed for." _

Finn closes the book, "Lolita" and realizes he may as well have the same taste of sin Humbert did. The image of innocent brown eyes, parted lips and bare knees flashes in his mind.

"I don't think I can help you."

"Why not?" – Rachel whines.

"Have you even read the book?"

_**iv.**_

He hears her voice and footsteps before she shows up at his door the next day.

"I read the book!" – She runs inside after she's messed his hair with her hand when he opens the door.

"And?"

"I don't quite get it. Humbert is the bad guy, right?"

He walks to the couch and sits down, trying to ignore the fact that her skirt is somehow shorter than before.

"Well, I'd like to think that he's not the type of character you can categorize, he didn't choose to have a love for girls at Lolita's age, he didn't actually molest her or any other girl; he just couldn't let go of the impression of his first love. It's more like a painful journey of one soul finding love and needing to be loved back, you know?"

She moves from where she's sitting to sit next to him, pulls both her legs on the couch, her bare, glowing knees rubbing together in impatience.

"Then he's allowed to be with Lolita?"

She moves her body so that her knees touch his bare arm a little bit.

"When she's older, I think so. Everyone deserves to be happy."

She touches his freckles on the bridge of his nose; he's certain she can feel the wild beating of his veins and his heart.

"I turned 17 yesterday."

She moves closer to him, he can see so clearly the pores on her skin, the shade of pink on her lips; he can smell her perfume and her sweats; he can just move a bit and he can feel her lips on his.

"Don't kiss me" – He breathes out – "I'll die if you kiss me."

She kisses him.

A spectacular explosion.

Waves rushing and thrashing into the rocks, painting the sky with a white color of foams and bubbles.

He knows then he has belonged to her; she has bewitched him, there's no returning for him now. His adulation for her has no ending, his love for her can never languish. He is blighted by her beauty, and with the sweetness of those pink lips that taste like summer.

Everything around him turns into a magnificent euphony and when she stands up and leaves, he's left feeling lethargic; nothing but the fire on his lips remains the same.

He tries his best to stand next to the window and wonders how the birds can sing their sweet little song the same; how those boys in the yard can play basketball with the same alacrity; because he knows he will never be the same.

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta."

He whispers the words to himself and he sees a girl with big, beautiful brown eyes; floating hair, who wears knee-high socks and plaid skirts, who has become the only thing that brings the state of tranquility to his soul.

"Rachel" – the word falls from his lips, soft and sweet.

**Tbc**

…**..::::…**

**A/N:**

**This is me when I read your reviews: ****Ｏ****(****)****Ｏ**

**I want to do this to all of you: ****(^з^)-**

**Keep on reading and tell me what you think, please please please! **

**Thank you so much! **


	4. Fever

_**Chapter 4: Fever  
**_

_**i.**_

He can't sleep that night; he's not sure of what happened or what didn't happen. He thinks it was just an illumination – a cruel work of art his mind created – Rachel couldn't have kissed him; his lips – a sign of despair and loneliness, of lost hopes and heartaches.

But he feels her lips; he feels the way they press on his – rose-like softness – he feels their weight.

_**ii.**_

When he finally wakes up, the sun is setting outside. He reaches his nightstand to turn on the lights but in vain.

"The power's out." – She stands at his bedroom door; he can vaguely see her tiny frame leaning on his door.

"What time is it?"

"8.30pm" – She comes closer to him this time – "You were sleeping like you were dead when I came here."

He tries to sit up but all of a sudden he feels as if all the power has been drained out from his body; a horrible headache hits him and he lies down again.

"Poor thing" – The mattress sinks down as Rachel sits next to him. She puts her hand on his forehead – the hand of an angel, a heavenly touch; her cool, soft skin touches his burning skin.

"You're having a bad fever, Finn. I'll bring you some hot soup, okay? Then I want you to rest, I'll lock the door when I'm out."

She's about to stand up when he holds her hand, his eyes pleading her, "No, please, stay with me."

He's gotten used to the dark now; he can see her face and body under the dimming light creeping into the room through his sheer curtains.

"Please, Rachel, stay."

She lets out a sigh and bends down to kiss his forehead – a blessing of an angel for a caustic soul.

"I'll get you the soup."

_**iii.**_

He wants to just lie back down and never wakes up; he hasn't felt this awful for years, but he's so afraid that if he closes his eyes, she'll be gone.

"How was the soup?"

"So good."

"Really? That's my first time cooking for someone else other than my Dads."

She blushes as she puts a wet cloth on his forehead – her touches are so gentle, and there's this unfamiliar gleam in her eyes he cannot understand.

"Okay, now sleep."

"I don't want to."

"You need your sleep."

It takes him all his strength to sit up, he rests his back against the headboard; the room starts spinning around him because of the headache and dizziness which just attack him but he can't care less.

"Hey, hey, lie down."

"No."

"Finn, you're having a very bad fever. I want you to lie down. I'm not going anywhere, okay, but you need to lie down. Here, I'll sleep next to you, is that okay?"

She pulls the comforter away and rests her tiny body next to his.

This is not doing anything good for his fever right now.

There she is, lying so close to him. He breathes her in – the sweetest scent he has ever smelled. Her skin isn't a color of olive anymore – the light from the bright moon has silvered her soft skin. She turns her body to face him; her knees slightly bend; her bare feet resting next to his. He wants to touch her – but he's afraid that if he does, he'll ruin her.

He lies back down but refuses to turn to look her in the eye. He can't risk it.

"Aren't you afraid you'll get sick too?"

"I'm a strong girl, I can handle it."

"But…"

"Sleep, Finn."

"Will I see you when I wake up?"

She touches his cheek with her hand and kisses his shoulder; then she begins to sing, with a certain shade of sadness in her voice.

"_So you lost your trust and you never should have_

_No, you never should have_

_But don't break your back_

_If you ever see this_

_But don't answer that_

_In a bullet – proof vest_

_With the windows all closed_

_I'll be doing my best_

_And I'll see you soon_

_In a telescope lens _

_And when all you want is friends_

_I'll see you soon"_

The last words are more like a whisper; strangely enough, Rachel's the first one to fall asleep. Finn turns around and watches her as her steady breathing fills the utter silence in the room; her long eyelashes touch her cheek. In all of the glory of the sliver light, she looks more beautiful and fragile than ever.

He kisses her forehead – a very, very soft kiss.

"I'll see you soon."

Two people fall asleep on the bed covered in mystic streaks of white moonlight, with their bodies close and their hearts beat almost at the same rate.

_**iv.**_

He wakes up before she does.

The power still hasn't gone back on, the sky outside hasn't put on its bright pink coat yet, so he guesses it's still very early in the morning.

As he listens to her breathing, he has realized what Ivan Bunin means in the story about a girl named Olia Meserskaia. He remembers the girl talking about an old book which describes the true beauty of a woman. Eyes as black as boiling tar, eyelashes as dark as night, soft skin with a shade of fresh pink, the color of the knees is a color as that of a mussel shell, and other things he can't recall. But the thing he remembers most is the notice of "light breathing" - the sense of a true woman.

Rachel has brown eyes though, with long, dark eyelashes, olive skin; but she is the most beautiful woman he has ever known. And her breathing – like that of an angel. It's just so gentle, so graceful and calming.

He falls back to sleep.

_**v**_.

He's cooking when he hears her footsteps behind him.

He turns around to find his girl standing at the kitchen counter, rubbing her eyes in a way that almost child – like. She's wearing his T-shirt – she must have worn it since yesterday.

"Finn, why are you up so early?"

"I'm making us pancakes – you said you loved them."

He turns around and almost drops the pan as he feels her arms hugging him from behind; she rests her face against his back.

"Rachel" – He whispers – "What are you doing?"

She giggles; he feels her breath through the thin material of his sleeveless T- shirt.

He hopes she will let go, but a part of him wants to – needs to – have her near him.

She drops her arm and kisses him on his shoulder again – she seems to love that spot.

"I'm just checking your temperature."

_**vi.**_

They spent the day in his apartment – she says her Dads have gone to her cousin house in Hamptons for the weekend.

There's something wrong with the power line in his building – Mr. Douglas says they've been fixing it for hours but nothing has improved.

The sky today is being quite timid and shy, it refuses to wear the bright lights and white cotton candy – like clouds, it insists on wearing a dull, sad shade of grey.

He doesn't mind though, because inside his apartment, he already has his sun.

They're lying on their backs on the floor in his living room, with food around them and scattering papers – his draft when she notices his vintage vinyl record player on the top shelf.

"Finn! Finn! Is that…? Oh my God! How come you never tell me about it?" – She squeals and pulls him up by the arm, pointing at the player.

Finn chuckles and pulls a chair to take it down for her. Rachel furrows her eyebrows and bends down to study the record with such meticulousness.

"Do you have any vinyl records to play?"

They go through an old box full of vinyl records – courtesy of his mother. He watches her as she pulls out every record in the box. Sweats are forming on her forehead, the front of her (his) shirt sticks to her chest, brown eyes shine with excitement, lips close tight forming a straight line.

She puts one of the records on the player and begins to sway when the music comes up.

"_Love, love is strange_

_Lot of people_

_Take it for a game_

_Once you get it_

_You'll never wanna quit"_

She grabs his hands and begins to make him dance with her with her arms wrapping around his neck.

"I can't, I really don't dance."

She continues singing and smiles at him.

"_Your sweet loving_

_Is better than a kiss_

_When you leave me_

_Sweet kisses I miss"_

He chuckles and gently sways his hips, manages to avoid stepping on her toes.

They keep on dancing, song after song; he even does the famous "Twist n Shout" dance when they dance to the Beatles.

"Can we stop now?" – He asks after the 8th song.

"No, wait! One last song, I love this one."

"_Moon river _

_Wider than a mile_

_I'm crossing you in style, someday_

_You dream maker, you heartbreaker"_

She brings her body closer to his and rests her face on his chest, her arms holding him tightly.

"Does Finn love Rachel?" – She asks, her voice muffled, but he can still understand what she says perfectly.

Love is not the right word. He's a writer – yet he doesn't know how to describe his feelings for her. He worships her, he adores her, he finds solace in her. Oh yes, yes, he does love her. So much. Forever. Until the end of time.

He knows he's not allowed to love her, he's simply just not. The age – gap is one thing, but he feels as if he could never have her completely. She's wild, untamed; she's outrageous and it's just too much for him. If he chooses to love her, he knows he will end up being miserable. She will crush his heart somehow – the heart that holds this never –ending fanaticism and love for her.

Yet, it's a misery he yearns for.

"He does." – He kisses her hair.

"How much?"

"So much."

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

'I'm going away for a while with my Dads, maybe for a year."

"Where to?"

"France."

"It's beautiful there" – He's feeling déjà – vu.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me."

She turns her face to look into his eyes – the eyes that he wants to look into for the rest of his life. Her pink lips slightly part, and he wants to kiss her, he wants to feel the softness of roses on his dry, miserable lips.

So he does.

He bends down and she stands on her tip –toes, and their lips meet halfway.

Oh how he longs for her kiss and he dreads the moment they pull away. He takes time to taste her, to let the fire slowly spreads from his lips to his whole body. When she gently pushes her tongue into his mouth, he feels the rush and the desire being pushed up to the point which he thinks has become ineffable.

When they finally stop the kiss – he doesn't know how long they've been kissing – he has to sit down on the couch.

"Hey, are you okay?" – She kneels in front of him, her hands cupping his face.

"It must be the fever."

She's about to say something when her cell phone rings.

"My Dads are here to pick me up. You're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

She stands up quickly to get change and after a few minutes, she stands in front of him again, dressed fully in her usual shirt and plaid skirt.

He stands up and holds her in his arms, "I'm not going to see you for a year."

"I'll see you soon." – She kisses his chest.

And with that, she's gone.

**tbc **

…**.::::….**

_**a/n:**_

_**A whole fluffy chapter for you guys, awwwee! Thank you so much for the reviews, guys, it means a lot to me. I can't stop smiling reading them! I'm kinda having a bit of trouble finding inspiration, so it's gonna take longer than usual for an update, oh and I'm also kinda sick, so maybe this chapter is not as good as I want it to be. But really, there's no excuse, so just be harsh on me, kay?**_ (〃￣ω￣〃ゞ

_**Songs**_**: "See You Soon" – Coldplay (listen to the live version)**

"**Love Is Strange" – Mickey & Silvia**

"**Moon River" – Henry Mancini, Johnny Mercer.**


	5. Deep Within The Corners Of My Mind

_**Chapter 5: Deep Within The Corners Of My Mind  
**_

_**i.**_

He starts writing letters to her, letters he would never send.

_Monday:_

I dreamt about you last night.

You were only ten when we met. Yet I remember everything so clearly, as if it was only yesterday. I knew you were something special – something too special for me to love. Oh, how I miss you, Rachel! I feel the warmth of your body when we kiss! I still do. You've bewitched me. You've had me.

Can I love you? Will you let me love you?

_Tuesday:_

You left your "Lolita" here. I finished it in a day.

I can't decide if I like Humbert Humbert or not. I pity him, mostly. But then I pity myself. You're so beautiful, Rachel, so beautiful I dread the day you realize that. When you do, you'll see me differently, won't you?

_Wednesday:_

I went out for coffee today. I need to get back on writing soon – but I can't write without you near me. I could write meaningless words – sad, pathetic, dull, empty words that could easily be sold to any publishing company. But I can't be that kind of man. I want to create, I want to live my words and inspire readers. I have a responsibility as a writer. Literature can only mean something when it reflects life and makes people better, kinder. But then again, I find myself writing pages of easy, ordinary stories.

When will you be back, my love?

_Thursday_

I can't shake off the weight of my guilt. I feel the burden on my shoulder. I should never have kissed you, or let you kiss me. I feel disgusted with myself. I have to stop.

_Friday_

I received your postcard. I opened it with shaky, trembling fingers and utter excitement. Your handwriting is as neat as always. You sign your name with a star – no star is as bright as you are. Paris is so beautiful, you say, full of _les amateurs_ and _la lumières_. You don't know much French but you remember what I taught you. You're going to school and you met a boy, a true French boy in every way, you mention.

I felt sick with jealousy; I felt its claws ripping through me. I can't tell you that, I'm not allowed to, because you're not mine. I'm yours, though. I could only be yours.

_Saturday_

It's raining so hard outside. You hate the rain; you always say you hate the rain. You'd furrow your eyebrows, your lips'd set in a straight line, you'd tap your fingers against my window pane and tell me about the story between you and the rain. You'd say you don't like it because your clothes would all get wet and dirty( I didn't think of anything inappropriate, if you should ever wonder), you hate the "squishy" feeling in your shoes (you say "squishy" with an expression as if you just ate something horrible). But I know you don't like the rain because when your mother died, it was raining so hard. You'd ask me to sing for you, when I do, you'd say I have a nice voice but not a perfect pitch. _"Practice makes perfect"_, then you'd rest your head on my shoulder as I sing.

"Well I met you at the blood bank

We were looking at the bags

Wondering if any of the colors

Matched any of the names we knew on the tags

And I said I know it well

That secret that you know

That you don't know how to tell

It fucks with your honor

"_Finn!"_

"_What? It's just the lyrics!"_

And it teases your head

But you know that it's good, girl

Cause it's running you with red."

I missed a part of the first phrase, I always forget that part.

It stops raining now.

You'd always go home.

_Sunday_

In the artistic hours of my life, I'd be bold enough to attempt to write a song, for you. But all the sweetest melodies I know are your laugh, your voice when you sing, and your shriek when you see Andrew Gardfield in a magazine. All the most gorgeous notes are your light breathing and the gleam in your eyes. You always have such sad eyes. Beautiful but sad eyes.

"My life, sooner or later

Your life, sooner or later

Will drift away from us in a bittersweet flow to the end of the world"

It's only been a week.

_Monday_

Will you learn how to love me? I may have the kind of look that awakes certain attraction from you – young girls at your age. Strong jaw line, broad shoulder, built body, pale skin and the romantic sadness in my eyes - pathetic sadness, in my mind. What will you see in me, Rachel?

_Tuesday_

I miss you.

_Wednesday_

My step brother came to visit me today; he's getting married to a Doctor. I'm so happy for him. He chats in his animated manners as always, his eyes shine as every time he's happy. He asks me to bring a date to his wedding, apparently being single at a wedding is "absolutely unacceptable" for me – as Vogue Fashion Editor's brother.

He tells me I should love someone. I say I am loving someone; it's just that I'm not allowed to.

"Says who?" – he asks.

_**ii.**_

He finds her lying on her stomach in his living room, reading a book, wearing skinny jeans, a cropped T -shirt and a huge cardigan sweater.

She always does this to him. Randomly appears out of nowhere and gives him a heart attack.

When she sees him, Rachel immediately runs up to him and wraps her legs around his waist, peppering his face with kisses. Their lips meet, and he feels the melting innocence under the pressure of his fiery lips. He tentatively raises his hand to hold her back – trembling fingers feeling the movements of her spine. She wraps her arms around his neck and rests her forehead against his shoulder blade. He gestures them to the couch and sits down, with her still in his embrace.

He's trying to process what is happening, he's trying to absorb the fire from her body to his own, he's trying to calm his heartbeat – the palms with his hand are still keeping the warmth of her body.

"Rachel?"

"Why didn't you write to me?"

"Because I want to stop loving you." – He says without thinking.

"Liar."

"It's true."

"How did that work out for you?" – She tightens her grip on him.

"Not very well."

_**iii.**_

The grandeur of the setting sun sends warm orange streaks of light into the room, illuminates the sad and desperate corners filled with dusts. He still has her in his arms – she has fallen asleep, her light breathing calms his heartbeat.

He's about to stand up when she tugs at the front of his shirt:

"Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna let you sleep for a while."

"I want to go out to get some ice – cream."

He finds himself sitting in a crowded Haagen – Das ice cream shop minutes later – with two scoops of cinnamon ice – cream in his glass.

Rachel's joyously eating her scoops of ice cream across the small table – her knees slightly press against his while reading an article in a magazine.

"So, how's France?"

"It's okay." – She answers without looking away from the papers.

"Okay? I beg to differ, it must have been wonderful."

"Okay, yeah, it's just _magnifique_!" – She lifts her hand and makes a gesture in the air, eyes still on the pages.

"Can you be more specific?"

"Jesus!" – She closes the magazine with annoyance and looks at him – "I don't want to talk about it, okay? I'm trying to have some ice cream and read a fucking magazine, is it so hard to understand?"

He winces from her words – she can throw a tantrum when she feels like it – but seeing her being so angry and annoyed by his presence snaps something in him.

He puts the money on the table and stands up.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

He walks as quickly as possible out of the place, but before long he feels an arm looping around his.

"I told you, Paris's full of _les amateurs_ and _la lumières._"

He looks down and sees Rachel looks up at him – her face softens and he reads the words "I'm sorry" in her eyes.

He takes her hand in his and kisses it before listening to her talking about how beautiful Paris was.

"Have you ever been to a foreign country, Finn?"

"I was born in Paris and raised there until I was 10."

"Wow, really?"

"Yeah, we moved a lot back then. Somewhere back in my mind, I see images of Belgium too."

"Hence your French."

"Exactly."

"I wish I were as half as good as you are."

He stops and cups her face with both of his hands.

"Rachel. You are so much better than anyone else."

She looks at him with adoration in her eyes then chuckles, "I was just talking about learning French, drama queen."

They both laugh and he's mesmerized by her laugh. It sounds like a symphony to his ear – innocent and care – free.

"Do you know what's tomorrow is?" – She leans her head on his shoulder as they continue walking.

"Your birthday, I remember."

"My 18th birthday, to be exact. Can I crash your place tomorrow's night?"

"Aren't you throwing a party at your place?"

"Actually, my parents are throwing one for me, but it'll just be this grand, ridiculous and boring party full of their dull colleagues." – She suddenly stops and moves to stand in front of him – "You should come over! With you there, it won't be so bad anymore! Please!"

"I don't know, Rachel."

"It's okay, you just have to show up for about 15 minutes then we can just sneak out."

She looks at him expectantly with her gorgeous brown eyes – the eyes he has missed for so long, the eyes he has always dreamed about.

How can he possibly deny her anything? He would jump in front of a train for her if she asked him to.

He just smiles at her and nods. She squeals and jumps up to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, then hails a cab.

"I can't wait to see you when I'm 18." – She whispers in his ear before getting into the car.

**tbc**

…..::::…..

_**A/N:**_

**So, let all of us Monchele fans have a moment to squeal together to celebrate the latest and perhaps biggest Monchele riot so far (I'm still praying for their wedding and their baby's birth)****. ****I couldn't stop myself from rolling around and laughing and crying on my bed when Monchele candids pop up on my iPad screen!****(****〃****)****八****(****〃****〃****)****八****(****〃****)**

**I hope you guys haven't lost interest in my story – I'm losing reviews and views (TT^TT). Please leave your thoughts and I'll be more than happy to read them all. **

**As some of you may guess, stuff is going down in the next chapter (****〃￣****ω****￣〃****ゞ****. **

**As always, my most sincere thank you to all of those who have read and reviewed my story. Seeing your reviews makes my day! Long live Finn and Rachel! Long live Monchele!**

**Song: "Blood Bank" by Bon Iver**


	6. Enchanted

_**Chapter 6: Enchanted**_

**i.**

She's turning 18 today.

His little Rachel, his beautiful Lolita. This Rachel, his Rachel, is turning into a woman. She'll be flying away, like a bird, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

**ii**.

His 1946 Harley & Davidson "Knucklehead" takes him to the destination on time.

Rachel's house is the perfect symbol for the life her fathers are having. It takes him almost an hour ride, but he guesses the time is worth it, because he has to admit, the mansion is exquisite. Located on the rolling hills of Westchester County, it seems to be the perfect getaway for high – profile residents like the Berries themselves. The wide front yard is sparkling with lights hanging above, trying to intimidate the shining stars. There are bushes of roses, African blue lilies, some scented white rose – tinted flowers that he can't remember their names. People wearing formal, expensive, elegant suits and dresses are everywhere, and he couldn't help but feel lost in the sea of unfamiliar places (the fact that he's towering almost everyone is not helping for his situation).

"Excuse me, sir? Your name is…?" – A young man dressed in a grey suit politely asks him with a cold look in his eyes.

"Uh, Hudson, Finn Hudson."

The young man looks at the guest list for a moment then shakes his head:

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't see your name on the list."

"Rachel personally invited me here, can you please check again?"

"I'm sorry, but since you're not on the list, I'm afraid you'd have to leave."

"Finn!"

He turns around as soon as he hears the familiar angelic voice calling his name.

Rachel's standing not so far in front of him, beautiful as a vision. Her long, shiny hair is curled into waves falling on her bare shoulders, a pair of teardrop diamond earrings sparkles. On her body is a shimmering silver floor – length dress, and he's certain she takes his breath away.

This, he thinks to himself, is Rachel.

He sees her walking towards him, her eyebrows furrow as she talks to the young man. He hears her saying something that involves his name; he sees her linking their hands together as she leads him inside the house. He watches as she leans her head on his shoulder while animatedly talks to him about the paintings her fathers display on their walls – Roy Lichtenstein's, mostly.

He watches as he basks in the beauty of her and fights back the wrenching of his heart.

His Rachel is no longer _his_ Rachel.

"Why are you so quite?" – She tilts her head to look at him – "Are you not comfortable?"

"I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"Rachel, honey, come here for a second. Leroy wants you to…"

He turns around to see Hiram Berry standing in front of him, with a surprised and confused look on his face.

"Dad, you remember Finn, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, sir, where have we met?" – Hiram extends his hand to Finn.

"I lived in the same building with you years ago."

"Oh… Right, it's…. wow…It's lovely to see you. Would you excuse us for a moment, Mister…?"

"Hudson, Finn Hudson."

"Right, Finn Hudson. Rachel?"

"I'll be right back." – She doesn't have to stand on her tip-toes to plant a kiss on his cheek this time.

He doesn't miss the look of disgust and annoyance Hiram sends to him as they walk away.

**iii.**

The party drifts by slowly and dully. Finn spends most of his time drinking wine while standing in the corner of the room and observing the world of the rich through his writer's eyes(the wine is simply marvelous, Louis Roeder's Cristal Champagne) . "Exquis!" – Finn says to himself before having another sip. Rachel tries to spend most of her time with him, but it seems to be an impossible mission as her Dads keep calling her every 30 seconds she spends with him, "I'd like you to meet Mr. Alex Cameron from Boies, Schiller and Flexner."; "Sweetie, this is Mrs. Helena Dawson, the belle of Wall Street, may I say it", etc. Names of important New Yorkers keep adding up to the list: lawyers, bankers, investors – he can't help but feeling lost and alienated.

"This is her world" – he tells himself as he gets another glass of wine – "This is where she belongs."

He decides to step outside and stands at the balcony looking across the river and lets the August air calm his mind. He holds his glass of wine in on hand and puts his elbows on the concrete space and watches the slow movements of the dark water as the moon shines as bright as ever above.

He taps his fingers on the surface, mimicking a rhythm of an old song his father used to sing; the light orchestral music echoing from the crowded room behind him.

"Do you have a light?" – A voice of a woman breaks through the humidity of an August night.

He turns to his right to see an elegant woman – whom he guesses is possibly in her 50s – wearing a glamorous bordeux floor –length dress, with a cigarette and a glass of wine in her hand.

"No, sorry, I don't smoke."

She curses under her breath and he realizes the familiar Paris accent.

"_Parisien_(Parisian)?" – He asks while keeping looking at the view in front of him.

"_Est – ce qu'on se connait_(Do we know each other)?"

"_J'habitais à Paris, quand j'é tais petit_(I lived in Paris, when I was a child."

"_Vraiment_(Really)?"

"_Qui_(Yes)."

"I'm surprised not to see a young man like you inside of that room, impressing the faces of New York" – Somehow she has lit her cigarette; circles of smoke are flowing in the air.

"I don't really have any business here." – He chuckles bitterly – "I'm just here for someone, that's all."

"Ah, another lover of the rebellious Rachel Berry." – She speaks with a certain tone of bitterness in her voice which is still carrying the taste of Paris.

"No, not lover." – He can't help but feel the coldness of jealousy in his heart as he hears the word "another".

"That girl is quite something, _une magnifigue créature_(a magnificent creature)! _Un oiseau dans un cage_(A bird in a cage). I met her when she studied in Paris – the girl refused to follow any etiquette I tried to teach her to help her "behave" in her world. She's quite a fire, don't you think?"

He smiles as he recalls the memory in his mind – a vivid lively picture of a girl with deep brown eyes, of olive skin as smooth as silk, playful alacrity and slight vulgarity.

"Don't let yourself catch fire." – The woman says before walking back into the crowded room.

"Why were you talking to Miss Valerie?" – Familiar arms wrapping around his torso from behind.

"I don't know her" – She moves to stand next to him this time, then leans her head on his shoulder, trying to stay close as possible.

"Hmm…" – His darling lets out a content sigh, as the cool wind of the river caresses her bare skin.

"Are you cold?" – He asks, barely more than a whisper.

"A bit."

He wraps his arms around her body this time. He doesn't know if it was the wine or the undying need of being close to her that makes him bolder in this moment.

"Much better" – She lets out another sigh as she's in his tender embrace.

A late night boat tooting its horn; the resonant sound in the quietness of the night brings them back to a time, long ago and far away time.

"_See the boat go round the bend_

_Goodbye, my lover, goodbye_

_All loaded down with boys and men_

_Goodbye, my lover, goodbye_

_Bye ,oh bye, my baby…_"

Another tooting from the now far away boat – it seems no more than a dot just around the river bend.

"Do I know that song?" – She asks as he finishes singing.

"No, kid. It was an old song, way back from the 1920s."

"Oh, when you were born." – She giggles quietly – "Sing it again, please?"

He sings for her again, his voice beautifully fills the air as the light music still echoes from the room full of strangers behind them.

Their dark silhouettes print to the ground as the pale moon covers everything in a sad silver color.

He would die a million times just to be with her like this – just Finn and Rachel and a moon waning to crescent above.

**iv.**

They stood together for what seems to be forever before she whispered in his ear some words about "le jardin."

He remembers her hand in his as she led him through a secluded part of the mansion – the path was filled with white pebbles and carefully trimmed bushes of colorful flowers, the dimming yellow light brings a magical feeling to the night.

He's sitting next to her in a small "outside room", as she calls it, which is basically a perfectly lit open – spaced room with no doors whatsoever, just 4 columns withstanding a concrete top – surrounded by blue lilies bushes. On the ground are comfortable pillows and blankets, Finn thinks he sees a vinyl record player behind the pillow case.

"Here is my absolute favorite place in the mansion. My Dads rarely go here, they don't even remember this place. This is my secret hideaway." – She says as she wraps a blanket around her tiny frame.

He takes off his vest, loosens his bow – tie and lies down, closing his eyes.

Soon, he feels the warmth of her body next to his as she puts her head on his chest, one hand on his heart. He wraps an arm around her and kisses the top of her head then strokes her hair.

"Music feels much better from afar." – She tells him as they lie in silence with the soothing sound of the music from inside the house.

Crickets are playing their own symphony now – the chirping sounds and her light breathing pour sweet, sweet melodies into his ears.

A cluster of stars glow between the dark silhouettes of the thin leaves; the soft breezes sing a lullaby to the two lovers lying peacefully under the shy lightning of a far away moon.

He feels her hand slowly pulls his sleeve up and feels slender fingers tracing, caressing the expanse of skin. Tentatively, slowly, surely.

She sits up slightly and starts to plants kisses on his arm, then his face, and his neck. Her hair falls over her shoulder.

He tries to stop her, he tries to stop himself from needing her.

"Make love to me." – She whispers in his ear as she rests her forehead against his.

**tbc**

_**A/N:**_

_**So sorry for the wait! I got back from my holiday and felt a little bit lazy, but I'm back now!**_

_**The scene with Finn and Rachel and the boat tooting is inspired by "The loss of a teardrop diamond".**_

_**I can't tell you how thankful I am for all of your support and reviews. I have to share with you guys something, there's a particular Glee fanfiction writer that I utterly adore and love, that is the lovely CJ, **_**dharkephoenyx**_** – I love, love, love her! She's one of the reasons I started to write(^v^). So, if you guys can, maybe you can recommend my story to her, if I get a review from her, it would mean the world to me! Please please! (v)**_

_**Thank you again for all the reviews, I truly appreciate every of them!**_

_**Til next time!**_


	7. Deux Amoureux

_**Chapter 7: Deux Amoureux (The Lovers)**_

**i.**

The night is still young.

The air is filled with the glamorous smell of blue lilies, campanula and freesias; crickets' symphony breaks through the tranquility as the waning moon paints the garden with a haunting shade of silver light.

She's sleeping now, with her head resting on his chest, their legs tangle – silky bonds of the tired bodies – her breathing as light as ever. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest – he feels the movements of the lovely chest he has come to worship as she lets out content sighs in her sleep. He has his arms around her, one hand stroking her hair and he breathes in the smell of it – the magical combination of that of sunlight and the atmosphere around them. The dress is still on her body, pushed up around her waist – it sparkles as the moon teases them with its light.

**ii.**

_He looks into her eyes and searches the deepest corners of his sick mind to find the power to resist her – to do what is right. What he should do._

_But she's touching him now –oh, she has her hand on his bulge. She has her lips on his; now kissing him with more passion and a new – found – boldness. He tries to fight it , the ever – so – noble and right – hearted Finn Hudson tries to fight against his own lust, to save the few untouched and perfect piece of his soul – his last attempt at running away from loving the one Rachel Berry._

_He doesn't win. He doesn't want to, either._

_He's kissing her back – their tongues meet. He flips her on her back and slowly, almost too slow, places wet kisses along her bare shoulder, her neck and he bits on her soft skin, then sooths it with his tongue. She lets out soft moans, urging him as her hands roam over his back. _

_He pulls her dress down around her waist and gently kneads her breasts as he takes one of her pert nipples into his mouth – twirling his tongue and bites on it._

"_Finn…" – Rachel sighs and bites her lips. His name on her lips is always so heavenly._

_He remains silent as he grows bolder with each sound Rachel makes – he caresses her thigh while sucking at her breasts. Her lively legs part as his hand locates what it seeks, and on the face of his lover is a dreamy, pleasure expression as he pushes his fingers inside of her._

_The dark silhouettes of the trees cover the two lovers who are swimming in a sea of unbridled, pure ecstasy._

"_There's…ah…not much…time…" – She pants._

"_Condom?" – He asks as he lines himself at her sweet entrance._

"_I'm on the pill."_

_He tentatively pushes into her, but she wraps her legs around him now and he lets his lust come over._

_He keeps kissing her as he sets up a quicker pace – the delicious sound of wet skin against wet skin mixes with the two lovers' panting and moaning._

"_Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime…" – He repeats the words into her ear as he keeps his rhythm – but then faster and harder._

_He tries to print all the images, the sounds, the senses, the tastes, the smells of her and this very moment in his mind; he memorizes the way her chest heaving as she breaths, the way her eyes turn dark with lust, the way her skin glow as the moon shines upon them. She's like a mirage – too beautiful to be true. He bites down on one of her nipples and licks it before moving up to her neck._

_She lets out a small scream as she comes._

_He spills into her seconds later – and after a few more thrusts, he pulls out and he lets a never – before exhaustion takes over as he holds her in his embrace._

**iv.**

"Hey."

"Hey" – He smiles at her as she sits up and kisses him.

"You were incredible." – She kisses the tip of his nose.

"Merci."

"Hmm, I love it when you speak French." – She rests her forehead against his as she kisses his lips.

"_Tu es belle_ (You are beautiful)" – He maneuvers to flip them over then kisses her forehead – "_Tu es extraordinaire_ (You are extraordinary)" – He kisses her neck and bites her ear lobe – "_Tu es merveilleuse _(You are marvelous)."

Time seems to stop as he has her in his arms – he wishes time could stop. She's no longer a vision – he has touched her and felt her, in the most glorious way of it all.

"Rachel? Sweetie?" – Her father's voice echoing from afar brings him back to reality.

"Oh my God! Oh no!" – Rachel pulls her dress up quickly and tries to fix her look as she stands up.

"Finn! Go, you can't let them see you with me! Here's the key to the back door! Go, now!"

"But I haven't given you your birthday present." – Finn holds her hand in his and is mesmerized by her beauty as they step out from the outside room – moonlight sparkles in her hair and in her eyes.

"Rachel?" – Leroy's impatient calling keeps getting louder.

"My Dads will be out of town for the whole weekend, I'll see you then. Please, Finn, go." – She pushes him towards the old iron door.

"Wait!" – Suddenly she turns him around – "_Embrasse – moi_."

He smiles brightly before tilting her chin up and kisses the soft rose –like lips of his dearest lover and exits with a heavy heart.

"Romeo, oh, Romeo." – Finn chuckles as he walks away from the garden – from the heavenly silhouettes of the thin leaves, from a moon waning to crescent and swears to the moon that he's never been happier.

And in the perfect tradition of a movie, rain begins to fall. Tiny, sparkling water drops touching the pavement – Finn looks up and watches in amazement as the dimming street light makes the water drops look like little flying moths.

"_I'm singing in the rain_

_Just singing in the rain_

_What a glorious feeling_

_I'm happy again_

_I'm laughing at clouds_

_So dark up above_

_The sun's in my heart_

_And I'm ready for love…_"

**v.**

They decide to go out of town the next day. Destination: Catskills, New York.

She's fascinated by his ivory – colored 1956 Morris Minor 1000 as soon as he brings it out from the garage. She hops in quickly, with a not so careful manner like before. Her blue high – waist fluffy skirt hikes up as she plops down on the passenger seat – he sees the smooth, lively warm skin of her thighs. He puts a hand on the expanse of skin; she hits his hand and pushes it away as she keeps on asking him with a sheer excitement about the "lovely" car.

**vi.**

The drive to Catskills took him longer than he thought.

She demanded to switch seats every 30 minutes. At the beginning of the trip, she was more than happy to sit next to him in her passenger seat with her hand on his thigh, and though he insisted her not to, she pulled the window down and almost scared him to death with her practically climbing out of the car and screaming "Good morning, New York!" for a good 1 minute. When she pulled back in, her cheeks were flushed, sweats were forming on her forehead, and her eyes were shining with joy and a childlike excitement.

The next thing he knew, she had successfully climbed to the back seat – kicking his face in the process. She laughed when her butt hit his face slightly, "_Excusez moi_!" She put both of her feet on the head of his seat, and started poking him with her bare feet while singing loudly.

"No matter what you do, I'm not stopping!" – Finn tried hard to drive properly and push her feet out of his face at the same time.

"Finn…"

His eyes caught hers in the rear mirror. She had her legs spread out, one hand touching her breast, the other creeping his way inside her panties.

Moments later, he found himself kissing her frantically with her on his lap, inside his car which rested under the shade of an old oak tree – the kind with its branches sprawling out and its leaves shimmering under the sunlight.

His tongue caressed hers as they fought for dominance with a perfectly – styled French kiss. He fondled her breasts with both hands, while she rubbed her cloth – covered pussy over his bulge. He pulled back to lick her neck then without warning, bit down hard on her shoulder. Rachel let out a moan and pulled his hair to get him back to kissing her, while he pushed her panties aside and freed himself from the all – of – a – sudden very tight jeans.

She started slamming down on him with a quick pace – she was never a patient person – but he decided to torture her with a slow rhythm. Soon, he couldn't fight his own raging lust anymore and started to thrust into her without hesitation. He watched as she leaned back on the head board of the car, with both her hands kneading her breasts, beautiful fingers pinching her nipples, eyes shut, sweats glistening on her bare chest. She opened her eyes and watched him pushing in and out of her, her white teeth biting her lips, in a failed attempt to control the moans which were getting louder and louder.

When it was over, she sat back up and kissed the top of his head, with his face resting against her glistening chest. He couldn't help but put a kiss on the valley between her breasts.

"Je t'aime" – He said against her skin.

"Show me".

**tbc**

**A/N:**

_**Thank you for all of your lovely reviews! Glee is coming back in 3 weeks and my life will get better soon(^v^).**_

_**So, guess what, I left a review on CJ's most recent ff, "Desire, deep, dark…", and she sent me a PM! OMG! It felt just like when I see a new Monchele candid! HEAVENLY!**_

_**But still, I wonder if she reads my ff or not, fingers crossed!**_

_**Anyway, this is my 1**__**st**__** time writing smut, and honestly, I know it will disappoint you(TT^TT). I'm really sorry! I'm trying to work on it, though. Maybe you'll see an improvement in my next chapter!**_

_**Please, please keep on reading and leave me reviews! As harsh and honest as you can be!**_

_**Til next time!**_


	8. Eden

_**Chapter 8: Eden**_

"_Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se respondent"_

_Charles Baudelaire_

**i.**

Catskills, New York has been known as a perfect getaway for New Yorkers – people who are constantly surrounded by sky scrapers and concrete pavements; lines of hustle restaurants and lines of hustle strangers on the streets.

Catskills is beautiful, with the ordinary beauty of a mountainous area: printed onto the sky is the splendid line of brown mountains reflecting on a perfectly calm and sparkling lake beneath; there, a lonely boardwalk would stand, waiting for a far –away boat to come back from its little trip; and hidden behind the line of bulky trees are the lovely inns and cottages in the perfect tradition of a quiet and peaceful England country site.

He chooses a white cottage in Forestburgh with sinuous strings of ivies and blue – shuttered windows, along with a perfectly trimmed bush of pink lilacs at the front. A small garden with purplish flowers at the back of the house is the final touch.

"Come on, old man, I don't have all day!" – His girl says with a frown on her beautiful face and a huff before dragging her bag and walks with a brisk pace into the cottage.

He recalls the times they made love during the trip – that one time under the oak tree, and the times he made love to her in many different ways, with his kisses, his hand on her lively thighs, his fingers tangling in her hair. Humbert Humbert and little Lolita had their own little trip across the states, and God knows that man had had Lolita – time after time – with an aching heart and an utter adoration for the little girl with brown hair.

The noble and _artistique_ Monsieur Hudson thinks about a long journey with his very own brunette darling, crossing the lines and dots on some old maps with folded corners and having a stack full of used tourist guides, with a box packed with souvenirs at the backseat of his 1956 Morris Minor 1000 while singing along with some old tunes on the radio, stopping every once in a while for food or making love under the stars.

Wishful thinking – the wing of poetry, mastered by Monsieur Hudson.

**ii.**

He thinks she knows men want her. He thinks she knows the way men look at her. She wears a tight sweater that shows the skin above her belly – button, and a skirt with its waist high enough to cover the rest. He doesn't miss the way she smiles at the guy at the other table, or the way she brushes her fingers lightly with the charming waiter with his hair combed back and slick with gel, or the way she rests her chin on her hand and pouts her lips in a child – like way as she looks up at him when she listens to him talk. Or the way she wraps her hair around her tapering finger and plays with it.

When they're back at their cottage, he presses her face on the door as soon as they're both inside. With one hand kneading her breast from behind, he lets the other seek its way inside her panties and plunges his fingers inside her without any warning. She lets out a scream – a combination between pain and pleasure, he guesses. "You're not wet enough" – he breaths into her ear and bites her neck, then sooths it with his tongue. She reaches back to tug at his hair, but he slaps her hands away and keeps them above her head with one hand, while fondling her breasts with the other.

"Finn… What…" – She's panting now, rubbing her knees together.

"Tell me that you're mine, baby. Tell me." – His fingers pushing in her with a quicker pace, while he rubs his loin in her lower back.

No words, just moans.

"Tell me." – He frees his cock and without any warning, pushes inside of her and starts thrusting with force.

"Ah…Don't stop…"

"Tell me! Tell me you're mine." – Thrust after thrust, he does it differently this time. No holding back. No restrains. Just unbridled lust and perhaps, rage.

He must be hurting her hands and her arms with the way he holds them, but he doesn't care. Neither does she.

He comes with a growl, and she follows moments later.

"_Tu es à moi_ (You're mine)" – He whispers, more to himself than to her, while still thrusting into her before pulling out and letting her hands free.

She turns around and cups his face in her hands before kissing his sweaty forehead.

**iii.**

They decide to go for a walk after that.

She takes a blanket with her and he carries the vinyl record player he gave her for her birthday and their picnic basket before walking towards the spot she mentioned when they first arrived at Forestburgh, which according to her, is "_étonnant_ (amazing)".

She was right.

The place that the innocent picnic date between Monsieur Hudson with little Rachie will happen is a high grove looking across the lake, hidden behind the dark line of pine and cypress – a clandestine getaway; perfect for any affectionate caresses that Monsieur will probably shower little Rachie with.

He lays the blanket down on the grass and listens to the grating noise when her lovely body lies on it. She sweeps her hair over her shoulder to let the breeze kiss on the magnificent skin at her neck, and turns to look at him with such tenderness that drives him mad.

In front of them, Claude Monet's "Sunset" is being painted with the subtle interplay of colors: red, yellow, white, pink – all shimmering and dancing together gracefully as the air is filled with nervous and warm scent of wet grass and August flowers.

She lets out sighs – the kind of sigh of young girls make when they think about something. She sings softly to the resonant music from the party at the cottage on the other side of the lake – a familiar tune of one of those cheesy songs which Monsieur Hudson can never tell apart.

He lies down on the blanket with her; she bends her legs slightly to make some room, while continuing her soft singing. Her hand creeps towards his, its slender fingers caressing his rough ones, before she intertwines them together.

He sits up on his elbows, kisses her parted lips softly before nudging her mouth open with his tongue. One hand is feeling the splendid curves of her body, while the other's kneading her breast. He takes his time, licking at her neck and she twitches when he bites on her hot ear lobe. He pulls the loose spaghetti – straps of her blue playsuit off her brown shoulder, his fingers slowly make their way to her areola; he draws circles on her skin and plays with her nipple carefully and tenderly, before pinching and twisting it slightly. His darling lets out a whimper; she rubs her knees together impatiently, squirming under his weight. He pulls the upper half of the playsuit and gathers it around her waist – there, he feels her ribs moving – then tugs her nipple before sucking it until her impatience wears thin and she pounds her fist on his back to get him to where she wants him most.

His hand travels south and when it finds what it seeks, he plunges his fingers into her immediately – he shivers as her juice coaxes his fingers, he feels the clenching of her walls. He studies the look on her face – with her eyes shut, her lips parting slightly, her nostrils flaring as she breathes in.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue – he probes and licks, he plunges it inside her, almost violently as she keeps squirming and moaning.

When puts his cock inside her, she's still sensitive from her first orgasm; but almost immediately, she wraps her legs around his waist and urges him to go faster, go harder with her biting his ear lobe. His thrusts are stronger this time; his pace is quicker this time. He listens to her body, he listens to the sound of their skin slapping against each other; he's kissing her when they come.

Under the shade of pine and cypress trees, they lie together, spent. He wraps his arms around her naked torso to pull her closer, and he can see the arabesque of dancing lights coming from the windows of other cottages behind the slender – leaved trees.

He whispers into her warm hair:

"_Je n'ai pas oubli é, voisine de la ville _(I have not forgotten our white cottage)_,_

_Notre blanche maison, petite mais tranquille _(Small but peaceful, near the city);

_Sa Pomone de plâtre et sa veille Vénus _(Its plaster Ponoma, its old Venus)

_Dans un bosquet ché tif cachant leurs members nus _(Hiding their bare limbs in a stunted grove)…"(*)

He strokes her hair as he always does whenever they lay together, his fingers caressing her back, now smooth and wet with sweat, feeling the femininity of the outline of her shoulders. Her breath tickles his bare skin, a moan escapes her lips as his hands move to love her lower back. In the very placid moment of this affair – the first and the last of his – he knows that he will love her, _this Rachel, his Rachel, standing 5 foot 3 in the morning*(1)_, Rachel – an insolent brat, Rachel – a skilled lover, Rachel – the little child with a heart made from fire. Oh, there is no Rachel that he would not love.

She sits up to pull her playsuit back on – he sees the perfect outline of her upper body under the dimming light. The sight is too much for him. He wishes he could bottle up the moment and brings it to his grave – _this Rachel, his Rachel*(2)_.

He takes her hand and walks with her to the lake. She dips one foot into the water and jumps when she realizes it's too cold. One, two, three times – she does it again until her body gets used to the temperature. Then she sits down, putting both of her lively legs into the water before pulling him down with her. She leans her head on his bare shoulder, swinging her legs and watches in amazement as the movements of her legs creating waves on the surface.

She keeps humming when he plants kisses all over her body and makes love to her again with his mouth at her clit. She doesn't have a chance to finish the song though.

**iv.**

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm waiting for you."

"Waiting for me to do what?"

"Leave me."

She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him, "Why do you always speak like that?"

"Rachel."

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I know, you've told me that, about a hundred times when we fuck."

He's afraid to ask her if she loves him or not, because he doesn't think he can handle the truth.

"Finn?"

"_Qui, mon cheri_?"

"Sing for me."

"_Here we are, out of cigarettes_

_Holding hands and yawning,_

_Look how late it gets._

_Two sleepy people by dawn's early light,_

_And too much in love to say goodnight…_"

She falls asleep in his arms, quietly, calmingly.

He wraps the blanket around them and looks at her face, at her soot – black long lashes and her high cheekbones, her swollen lips and the dew drop on her nose.

**v.**

It's raining when they leave Forest burgh.

He drives and drives, until Forest burgh becomes nothing but a blurry image of pine trees, of purplish little flowers, of a blue – shuttered white cottage and a beautiful dancing Nymph.

Her fathers are standing there – they must have been waiting for them for quite some time – when Finn and Rachel arrive at his building.

**tbc**

…::::…..

**A/N:**

**Thank you every one who has read and left lovely reviews for "Creep". I know I say it all the time, but I DO appreciate every single one of them! (^x^). Thank you CJ and Danielle (^v^)**

**I just created a Tumblr account, , so please go check it out guys!**

**(*): "**_**Je n'ai pas oubli é, voisine de la ville**_**" by Charles Baudelaire**_**, **_**English translation by William Aggeler, **_**The Flowers of Evil**_** (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)**

***(1): "standing four feet ten in one sock" (Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov)**

***(2) : Humbert Humbert repeated this phrase multiple times in "Lolita", (this Lolita, my Lolita) – Finn was making reference to the novel and drew the parallel between him and Humbert Humbert.**

**Song: "Two Sleepy People" – Seth MacFarlane (yep, Family Guy) and Norah Jones.**

**Til next time my lovelies! Kisses and hugs!**


	9. Chasing Pavements

_**Chapter 9: Chasing Pavements**_

**i.**

He's lying on his bed in the darkness of the room – the light outside barely reaches where he's at. He can see the outline of the objects in front of him. That is the study desk Rachel once sat on while reading her books though he had insisted her not to – she stuck her tongue out at him and hopped on the desk, showing her perfectly smooth skin when her skirt hike up. The carpet still holds the shape of her graceful feet. Oh yes, and he remembers on this bed, she laid next to him, sang him to sleep, and her touches, soft as those of angels.

His phone vibrates and he's surprised to hear her voice on the other side of the line when he picks up.

"Rachel?"

"Hi, Finn." – She says, almost like a whisper.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at my house, I'm grounded. My dads won't let me go out unless they come with me, and they've taken away my phone. I borrowed this from a friend."

"I miss you."

Silence.

"When can I see you again?" – Finn sits up, holds his phone closer to his ear. Maybe by doing that, he can feel her closer, as if she were with him still.

"I don't know. I haven't talked to my Dads."

"Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, please, remember that."

"I'll see you soon."

The familiar beeping sound replaces her sweet voice suddenly.

And all that's left is emptiness.

**ii.**

He starts smoking again days after that the phone call.

He finds himself captivated by the way the white smoke floats around him, embracing him before vanishing into thin air.

He tries not to think about her too much. He begins reading his French novels again, and sometimes he would stop to get out of the apartment and walks.

Just walks.

Walks.

Walks and everywhere, he sees her. She's in the wind caressing his face, she's in the joyous chattering of school girls on their bikes when they ride pass him, and she's in the reflection of the sunshine on the glass window of the coffee shop at the corner – the same reflection he sees in her brown eyes. He misses her eyes. He misses her everything.

He goes out drinking one night, with the hope that wine – sweet, sweet invention of Dionysus – will help him forget, even just a little bit.

It scares him, because he grows more sober with each shot he takes. Even the strongest drugs won't ease his mind, he knows that now. He brings the empty glass up and stares into it – seeing his face gets all twisted and blurred. It maybe because of the tears that are swelling up in his eyes and there's nothing he could do about it.

**iii.**

He's sleeping when the doorbell rings and he rushes to open it, his heart wildly beating and for a moment, he thinks he'll see her face today.

"Rachel?"

Instead of the lovely face of his dear lover, he sees the cold, expressionless face of one Leroy Berry.

"Mister Hudson, we need to talk."

**iv.**

Two men are sitting across each other – still as statues. Finn watches and studies the man in front of him – dark skin, strong jaw line, deep eyes. His suit is definitely not just another suit – by the look of it, this could very well be one of those Italian tailored suits he gets to see on movie actors. He has one hand holding the glass of wine, the other tapping his chin in a steady rhythm.

After a moment, Leroy puts the glass down on the table – the sound of glass hitting the wooden surface echoes and penetrates through the suffocating silence.

"How much do you want?"

"Excuse me?"

"For leaving Rachel."

Finn chuckles – "I'm sorry, Mister Berry, but as strange as it may sound to you, money can't solve everything. Besides, that also depends on Rachel, doesn't it?"

He's taken by surprise when the dark man lets out a laugh.

"You think you're smart, don't you? Oh, what are you, a writer? That explains so much."

He pulls out a cigarette in his pocket and offers to Finn, while lighting up a cigarette for himself.

"You love her, boy?"

"Yes" – Finn answers with no hesitation, then takes the cigarette from Leroy's hand.

"How?"

"I take care of her; I make sure to put her own happiness above my own."

"And you're sure that's what you have been doing?"

"Ask Rachel yourself. She's happy when she's with me."

"Does she tell you that?"

"She doesn't have to. She always finds me; she always comes back to me."

"Did she ever tell you about her doll, Marley?"

"No."

"When I first met Hiram, Rachel was just a little girl, about 10 years old, as I remember. She didn't like me at first – she made that very clear to both Hiram and I. She'd yell at me, hide in her room and refuse to come see me; she'd tell her friends in class and make up stories about me. One time, we were walking down the street and she saw a doll behind a glass window; she asked Hiram to buy it for her. It was a beautiful doll – made in Italy – with blonde hair and a fluffy pink dress with glitter on it. It was also very expensive. I didn't want her to have such an expensive toy at a young age – I didn't want to spoil her – so I convinced Hiram not to buy the doll. You know what she did? She spent 1 hour every day after wards to stand in front of the shop and look at the doll, even if it rained. Eventually I myself gave in and bought her the doll."

Leroy takes a sip of wine and both men continue enjoying their cigarettes for a while before he speaks up again.

"She threw the doll away a day after." – Leroy looks at Finn while blowing white circles into the air – "You see, she never wanted the doll, she wanted to fight me, she wanted to prove a point: she wins, every time. You think she's been trying to hide this little affair between you and her? She could have been with you for as long as we live and we wouldn't find out; but she wants us to find out, so she could take a stand against us. That's what she's been doing. You've been the fire she needs. She knows she has a power over you and she uses it. This isn't the first time, my dear Finn. I've seen her done this before."

The cigarettes have all burned out. From here, they can hear the sounds of New York afternoon so clearly and vividly; he can almost taste it.

"Think about it, Finn. Think about it. I'll let you meet her, and then you can find out the answers yourself." – The man stands up and walks to the door while Finn remains a statue in his seat – "Love bites, Finn. There ain't nothing sweet about it."

**v.**

Leroy keeps his words – days later, he finds Rachel standing at his front door. She throws herself into his arms – he breathes in the warmth of her hair; he basks in the heat radiating from her lively body, with her soft chest pressed on his strong one. He has tried – God knows he has – to stop needing her so much, needing her with every nerve of this body of his; loving her with the purest love – loving her enough for both of them. He tilts her head aside and starts planting kisses along her neck – he pays extra attention to the lovely hollow space at her collar bone as she pulls his paper thin tee up and runs her hands on his broad chest. When their tongues meet a slow - agonizingly so – kiss, he feels his love running through his veins. As the sounds of their ragged breathing fill the humid air around them, he takes her blouse off and kneads her breasts gently before removing the bra. Finn takes a nipple into his mouth and tugs at it, then sucks and sucks – clinging as a child. He wants all of her today. She mewls and thrashes against the wooden door, rubbing her hot pussy against his loin. She starts thrusting her hips and he knows she's being impatient again. With her soft legs like silky strings around his waist, Finn carries her to his bed and puts her down gently. She bows her back and moans, thrashing from side to side, "_Lick me, baby. Fuck me with your tongue. Come on, baby, do it_." She licks her lips while his tender fingers run along her inner thighs before pressing at the wet spot. She rubs herself against his fingers – their eyes never leave each other. Finally, when his tongue's inside her wet, hot, lovely pussy – she screams – a smile on her face – her eyes shut, she runs her fingers in his hair then she brings them up to caress her breasts. Suddenly, she feels the familiar sensation of having his cock inside of her. He's standing, thrusting into her, changing the rhythm every time. Realizing it may be over too soon, he pulls out and bends down to kiss her – then licks the sweats off her skin.

He's taking his time to study the curves of her body, the graceful movements of the bones inside her tiny body, the heavenly state of being inside of her like this. Loving her like this.

But he's tired – of waiting and chasing, of uncertainty. He needs to know. He'll know, he'll be free.

It's wet and dirty and messy when they come – but seeing the white liquid coming out of her pussy makes his heart swell with such a twisted pride he never knows existed.

He holds her in his arms – their skin brushing against each other and soon she wants to have sex again. She sits up, her brown hair falling in his face – tickling him; he sees the sun on her skin.

"Why are you here, Rachel?"

She's moving her head lower, licking at his abs.

"Rachel, stop."

She's kissing the tip of his cock.

"Rachel."

"Uh" – She sits up again, annoyance written on her face. "What?"

"Rachel. I love you, and you know it. But I need to know, Rachel, I need to know if you feel the same for me. I need to know."

"What is it with you and love? It's a ridiculous obsession!"

"Why are you here? Why do you always come back to me?"

She stands up and puts her underwear on, but he's not going to give in this time. He pulls his pants up and catches her wrist.

"Why do you need me? Is it because of your Dads? Or because you love me?"

He holds her hand in his and kneels in front of her, he kisses her taunt stomach.

"Because if you love me, I'll give you my life. I'll never ask for anything else but your love. I'll never lie to you, unless you want me to. I'll love you, oh baby, I'll love you."

He stands up and stares into her deep brown eyes – he's trying to see her soul.

"But if you don't, you can never see me again. I'll leave New York."

The silence is too intoxicating for him. He's holding his breath, and his body goes numb. The only thing he knows right now is the words that are slipping from her lips.

"Then I guess this is goodbye."

**tbc**

_**A/N:**_

_**Thank you for your support to this ff! I never thought I'd go this far. **_

_**However, I feel like I'm letting you down. See, I have this weird feeling that some of you have given up on me : ( Please don't! I'm trying to write better and better for you! So please, please leave me reviews and tell me what you think! Just a few words would do!**_

_**Just two more chapters and we'll reach the end :( **_

_**Follow me on Tumblr : **mochainthesun**;**** ask me anything, maybe leave me some prompts : )I'll try my best!**_

_**Til next time my dearies!**_


	10. Like You'll Never See Me Again

_**Chapter 10: Like You'll Never See Me Again**_

**i.**

He's sitting in the room invaded by the orange sunlight streaming through the sheer curtain, numb with a newfound loneliness. His nostrils are still full of her smell – sweet, sweet flowers of one humid August night. He looks down at his hands – he held her with these hands for what seems to be a lifetime ago. Finn slumps back on the wall and slides down; resting his head against the cold surface and closes his eyes, as the world drifts by in a soft breeze.

_She's looking at the ground when she bids him her goodbye. He wants to see her eyes though, he wants to see those gorgeous eyes._

"_So you don't love me?" – He whispers –to be honest, he should have seen it coming._

_He did – he knew it from the beginning – but he chose not to believe it._

"_It's not as simple as black and white, Finn."_

"_Yes it is!" – He yells at her and sees her body flinches. "It is." – He cups her face in his rough hands, a little more forceful than before, tilts her head up and finds a sad pair of brown eyes staring back at him, "It is."_

"_It's not." – She turns away and puts on the rest of her clothes, turning her soft back on him before letting out a sigh, "Why do you need to know that? Isn't this enough?"_

"_This? What exactly is this?" – He grabs her arm and turns her around – "What exactly is this, Rachel? You coming here and being with me and I don't even know what we are, what I am to you."_

"_Aren't you happy? Why do you need to label things?"_

"_I'm not labeling anything! I want to know if the girl I'd die for loves me or not! Is it a little too much to ask? I just want to know what the fuck you need from me! Why are you even with me, Rachel?"_

"_I don't need anything from you! I don't want you! You're a creep, a weirdo! You live in this little shitty world of your own where words are all you need! Words, beautifully crafted empty words!"_

He feels the warm tears rolling on his cheeks as he remembers her words.

"_THEN WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?" – He punches on the wall, he doesn't feel anything though – "You can just always leave." – He backs away from her and watches as her face crumbles._

"_I hate you!" – His brunette darling screams at him, the words rip through the ringing silence in the room._

And the carpet on the floor still holds the shape of her feet.

**ii.**

This girl, this Carmencia little darling is dancing in front of him, showing him her perfectly smooth skin that has the same olive color as that of his love. Her fingers slowly lift up her tight red shirt, drawing patterns on her skin, kneading her breasts. She licks her lips in the cheap ways those poor prostitutes always do with no hesitation and frees herself from the rest of her clothing. Carmencia crawls over to him, grinding her pussy on his loin and throwing her head back, making (faking) moans and kissing him. He kneads her breasts with one hand, the other holding a can of beer.

He fucks the girl – roughly – and he can tell that the girl's taken by surprise with his skills as a lover – she makes these _sounds_ and Finn's been with enough women to know whether they're real or not.

He still feels it – the satisfaction after orgasm. He still feels the heat and the joy of release. He does feel it.

He also feels disgusted with himself and he rushes the girl out of his apartment after paying her. She curses in Spanish before slamming the door.

He lies back down on the bed, and sobs – loud, penetrating sobs – in the dimming yellow light of his lamp. He wants _his_ Carmencia. And she's gone.

**iii.**

He calls Sue and his family to tell them that he's leaving. He goes through the boxes of postcards and used tourists guidebooks with folded corners to choose a place. Maybe he should head to West Coast – ah yes; maybe the sunny California sky will help him. Los Angeles? City of fallen angels. Hollywood. Yes, he'll be a penniless Bohemian writer living in a tiny, shitty apartment with a heavenly view looking across the promising sign of Hollywood. He'll write novels – he'll be the lover that older women need when they're lonely; he'll live a rich but lonely life and his hobby will be watching sunsets on Beverly Hills.

Then he sees it – an old yellow postcard from the 1960s, it must have been his Grandpa's, under the pile of papers. Lights and lovers.

It's his turn to live this time.

**iv.**

Finn blows the dust off his leather suitcase – he hasn't taken it down from its place on the top of the shelf for years – and runs his fingers on the surface. He sighs and starts putting his clothes into the suitcase – and tries his best not to connect them with the memories New York has given him.

"What's with all the boxes?" – A far too familiar voice pulls him from his thoughts.

He turns around and sees her standing there – as lovely as forever, with her hair tied together into a top knot and an oversized cardigan, kicking her feet on the carbon boxes on the floor.

"I'm moving" – He answers while folding his favorite shirts and without looking at her.

She laughs and moves closer to where he's standing and puts her arms around him, "No you're not." He shivers as her fingers clutch onto the front of his shirt.

"I am." – He pulls himself away from her and avoids looking at her.

"Oh come on Finn!" – She tries to grab his hand but he stares right into her eyes and she backs away.

"You're really moving?" – She whispers and looks around the apartment full of yellow carbon boxes.

"There's no point of me staying here."

"Your work!" – She follows him around as he maneuvers to get the rest of his clothes.

"I'm a free – lance writer, Rachel."

"Your apartment!"

"I sold it."

"Your family! Kurt, Carole, Fanny, Marcy, Ann, ect."

"I told them and they say what makes me happy makes them happy."

"You can't just leave!" – She yanks the pants and boxers in his hands and starts unfolding them – "You can't!"

"Guess what sweetheart" – He takes the clothes from her hands easily, his body towering her tiny one – "I can and I am."

"Finn! Stop! I don't want you to leave." – She hugs him from behind, resting her face against his back and he feels his heart shattering into thousands sparkling pieces – "Please, Finn."

There, she does it again. Making him love her with her sweet voice. But he's had had enough – he's hurt enough.

"Give me a reason why I should stay."

He turns around and cups her face in his hands – he knows he'll go mad if he doesn't touch her – "But don't tell me you need me because we both know that it's bullshit."

"I do need you! I do!"

"Why do you need me?"

"Because I don't know who I am."

**v.**

She stands in front of him, a little girl swimming in her oversized cardigan and ripped jeans shorts, a little child with sun on her skin and in her hair.

"I don't know who I am." – She sits down on the floor, pulls her knees to her chest – "I play all the parts. The goody – two – shoes part, the bad – girl part, the brat, the angel. I don't know what I am, Finn. I go around telling people about my Broadway dreams, but I'm not sure if that's what I need. I wander and just try to fit into all these different roles, I get lost and I can't even see myself."

"But you say you love me. You say you love me." – She reaches for his hand – "You must see me, you must know me then. Maybe being with you will help me find me. Right? Can you please help me with that? Helping me find me?"

She's crying.

Opalescent tears rolling down on her lovely cheeks, caressing her flushed skin.

He kneels down in front of her and enfolds her in his arms, "Oh baby, shh, oh my baby. Don't cry."

She clutches on the front of his shirt, sobbing loudly.

He gets it now. She's never loved him, but she needs him to help her. Help her finding her.

"I can't help you with that, Rachel. You'll have to do it yourself. No one can." – He kisses her forehead – "You have to make that journey on your own."

"I don't know how."

"You do, Rachel, you do! You always have." – He kisses her tears and feels the heat of her body in his embrace – "You just need to brave, okay?"

"So you'll still leave me?"

"No, I'll leave New York but I won't leave you." – He pulls back to stare into her alluring brown eyes – "We both need to find ourselves. And maybe after I've found me, I'll come back to you."

He kisses her lips – fiery lips, angelic lips – "I'll come back to you."

She unbuttons his shirt and pulls the garment off his body, then runs her brown fingers on his pale skin. He trembles at the softest touch. He takes off her cardigan and kisses her chest through the paper thin tee, his hands taking off her shorts. It hurts him to finally realize the truth – maybe he has known it before, that she doesn't love him, but she needs him for herself. Does it make her selfish? Yes. Of course. But he loves her for his own good, he'll always do. That makes him a selfish bastard too, he believes so. When her fingers wrap around his cock, he groans and sucks harder on her perk nipples and that makes her bite on his shoulder. She moves her hands up and down while he keeps sucking her breasts – he knows how to drive her crazy. "_I'm gonna fuck you with my tongue_" – he whispers and sees her biting on her lips, nodding her head and arches her back. He puts both her legs over his shoulder, and kneads her calves, sucks at the smooth skin he's always been loving and puts his tongue inside her pussy and laps at her – loving how she can't stay still, thrashing from side to side and pulls his hair roughly. He draws patterns with his tongue and sucks on the little nub above her slit. She screams and he feels wetness gushing out from her body. Before long, she pulls him up and kisses him- bruising his lips – and he pushes in and out with an agonizingly slow rhythm. "_Oh, God, oh baby, yeah, that's it, baby baby oh God_".

He's loving her like he'll never see her again.

**vi.**

"Did you ever love me?"

"Truth?"

"Truth."

"No, not really" - She runs her fingers through his damp hair - "I like you. You're cool and talented."

"You don't hate me?"

"I hate how you always seem to treat yourself so lowly and how you act like a snob sometimes. Oh and I hate the way you talk."

"Why?"

"Mysterious and esoteric" – She taps on his nose lightly –"Makes me feel stupid."

"You're not."

"So you're really moving to Paris?"

"Yeah."

"You won't want to leave."

"How do you know that?"

"I know."

The shadow of New York slowly covers the two naked people, lying on top of an old blanket on the floor in an apartment full of boxes. He sees the resplendent sight of her body in the dimming light and he knows she'll drive him mad with tenderness.

When she kisses his cheek goodbye, he feels as if he were flying.

He's free, at last.

**tbc**

…**.:::….**

_**A/N:**_

_**Carmencia: **__Carmen, Humbert calls Lolita Carmen from time to time__**.**He's just calling the woman by this name and remembers about Rachel.  
_

_Ahhhh, thank you so so much for all the reviews! OMG I was so happy when I read them. You guys are the best! I cherish each one of them! I'm serious._

_So this actually is the first scene I pictured when I began writing "Creep". I know some of you think Finn maybe a little too pathetic : ( but I built him upon Humbert Humbert, and if you read "Lolita", you'll find similarities between Finn and Humbert, Rachel and Dolores. : )_

_What do you think of this chapter? It's a very important one, so, please, please shower me with reviews, be honest and harsh if you want to, I won't be mad! (^v^)_

_We'll have one last chapter my babies, I'm so emotional right now (_"_)_

_And check out my Tumblr : __**mochainthesun**__, maybe leave me prompts? I'll try my best at filling them_


	11. Paris In June

_**A/N 1:**_

_Just a heads up, this chapter is very different. This is basically a day with Finn and Rachel walking around and talking, the plot is very simple. I describe their actions as if they were in a movie scene – it's like "Before Sunset". So, a lot of dialogues guys _(^v^)_ Enjoy!_

_**Chapter 11: Paris In June**_

**i.**

"So you never saw her again afterwards?"

"No. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses, but something must have happened and I lost contact with her ever since."

"Mister Hudson! Do you think you'll see her again someday?"

All of a sudden, his mind is filled with sparkling memories of a beautiful brunette little girl, whose eyes keep him captivated every time he stares into them; of silky skin and tangled legs; of brown hair and of the most graceful cheekbones he'll ever know.

"I always dream about it." – He smiles at one of his brightest students.

"What do you think it'll be like?"

He looks at the door of the auditorium and finds her standing there, arms crossed in front of her chess, hair pulled up in a pony tail, black tank top tugged in skinny leather pants and a pair of ankle boots, with a brown satchel.

Rachel.

Standing 5 foot 3 and smiling at him with a newfound warmth and kindness in her eyes.

He puts a hand on his chest where his heart is supposed to be at and clutches the front of his shirt, while she tilts her head then repeats the question and his curious students exchanging looks among themselves.

"Well" – He can't recognize his own voice – "I always think it'd be on a rainy Sunday when I was checking out some old vinyl records in a little vintage shop in New York, you know, I'd be on my vacation and I'd decide to bike around my old city. And I'd bump into her – dressed in a flowy sundress with a cup of coffee in her hand and we'd accidentally pick the same Bon Iver record."

Some "awww"s are being heard around the classroom.

"So" – She laughs and gestures her hand back and forth – "This is nothing like what you expected?"

"No." – He leans back on his desk and crosses his arms in front of his chest – "Better".

**ii.**

Class ends half an hour later, and he walks as quickly as he can to where she said she'd be waiting for him. From his classroom to where she's at is a 26 – step walk and to be honest, that's the longest walk he's ever made in his life.

All the while, he's still trying to calm his heart and grasps his min around the idea that's she's actually here, they're going to catch up and he'll be spending some time with her.

He makes careful, almost too careful steps on the concrete of the yard; he listens to the clacking noise his shoes are making, while loosening his tie and rolls the sleeves of his shirt up.

She's sitting on an iron bench under the biggest oak tree in the campus, head leaning back, eyes shut, slender fingers tapping along with a steady rhythm.

"Hey there stranger" – He says as he sits down next to her, their thighs so close.

"Hey" – She replies without opening her eyes.

He mimics her action – Finn leans his head back on the cold barrier of the iron bench and looks up. Through the dancing leaves of the oak tree, he can see the sky sparkling and feel the silkiness of the summer heat washing over his body.

"Never thought you'd be a professor."

"Well, I'm full of surprises."

"You're not sleeping with any of your students, are you?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's both unethical and predictable."

Finn laughs and turns his head to take a closer look at her face. She's still closing her eyes, her soot – black eyelashes caressing her cheeks, her slightly parted lips shining with youth, and it takes him a lot of effort not to trace the outline of her cheekbone. He doesn't think any poets or painters can ever describe or capture the ultimate femininity of a cheekbone, let alone the playfulness and desire in her whole warm body which is so close to his.

"No, not students" – He sits with his chin propped up in one hand, resting his arm on the cold iron of the bench's barrier –"Teachers, maybe."

"So you've turned into a man whore since the last time we met?" – They both burst out laughing and he still hears sunlight in her voice.

She puts a hand in front of her face to block the bright sunlight coming right at them after emerging behind the curtain of clouds then stands in front of him and extends her hand.

"Do you want to grab a cup of café? I know this really cute café near here".

He takes her hand and shivers at the very simple gesture. "I'd love to."

"Gosh, this is so weird." – He rubs his face with one hand, the other stuffed in his pocket and smiles at her as they walk side by side – "I thought I lost it when I saw you standing at the doorway. I was really surprised I could hold myself together. How long has it been?"

"Seven years."

"Seven? It only seems like yesterday in my apartment in New York."

"I know, right?"

"How do you know about my teaching here, at AUP?"

"Erm, I have a friend, Jessica, she's in your class and she mentioned a tall and handsome professor once but I just recently found out that it was you."

"You came here to travel or…?" – He squints his eyes at the too bright sunlight.

"No, I've been living here for 3 months."

"What? Why didn't you come find me earlier? Careful." – He grabs her arm as a biker passes by.

"I didn't have the guts to" – She shrugs and tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear – "I didn't know if you wanted to see me or not."

"I always want to see you, R." – They stop walking and face each other, he taps her nose lightly and smiles.

"Well, hi." – She runs her fingers through his now much shorter hair and traces the freckles on the bridge of his nose. It's always been their habit – caressing each other's nose like it was the most beautiful thing.

"Hi."

**iii.**

"Wow, this is really nice. I've been living here in Paris all along and I can't believe I've never been in here." – He says as he pulls a chair to sit down in a small café at the corner of rue Jean Macé.

"You're kidding?" – She hits him on the arm lightly, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"No, I've never been in here. I walked pass this several times though."

"I loved it the first time I saw it. The red sign really caught my eye."

He props himself up with one elbow and plays with his eyelashes while watching her speaking French with the ginger head waitress.

"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?"

" Erm, un café au lait et…" - She looks at him expectantly.

"un café.''

"Qui, merci.''

"Merci. Wow, R, you really have mastered French!"

"Shut up!"- She hits him playfully and they remain silent for a moment. The afternoon surrounds them with sounds of a bike ringing its bell when its rolling wheels make these distinctive clacking sounds on the concrete walk; a couple walking by with their hands linked together and a guy chasing after a bull dog.

"I wish we had these café in the states." – He finally speaks up while taking off his jacket.

"Yeah, this is actually very nice."

"I still have no idea about you though. Update me, R. Come on, what do you do? Where do you live? Are you planning on staying here in Paris for good or…?"

"Well. Merci" – She takes the cup of coffee from the ginger head waitress – "I am a photographer, I live with my boyfriend in an apartment on Rue de Merignan and I'm actually heading back to the States tonight."

"Wow." – He couldn't help but feel curious – "You have a boyfriend?"

"That's all you can take out from what I just said?"

"Is he French?"

"No, he's British. I met him when I went to study photography in NYU."

"Wait a minute. You followed him here, didn't you?" – He puts his cup of coffee down on the table and leans forward.

"He's a news photographer, he moves a lot. He took a flight to New York last week and we're meeting tomorrow."

He chuckles and leans back, clasps his hands behind his head. "So much has changed."

"Really? Do I look older?"

"Yeah, you got wrinkles and stuff." – She pouts at his words –"No, R, I'm kidding. I just… I think I have to see you naked to actually know."

They both laugh again and he's loving how he could be like this around her this time. Time does heal, after all.

But in the back of his mind, he thinks he still yearns for her. How can he possibly tell her that that last time with her is tattooed on his mind; that he remembers every little detail of the whole thing – the way her fingers clutching at his front when she cried, her hot lips pressing against his own, her marble arms around his tired body when she whispered "_I'm sorry_", "_I never wanted to hurt you_", the way he saw the sunlight dying on her glistening skin? They're still there. Everything is.

"I think you'll look better with your hair down" – Feeling bold, he sits up and takes the rubber strand out and watches in amazement as her brown hair floats down on her olive shoulders – and in a moment acted out of habit, he runs his fingers through her hair.

"Much better" – He breathes the words to her and misses the blush on her skin.

"Do you do that to every girl you like?"

"No, just the prettiest."

She smiles and looks down at her lap, fidgeting with the satchel's strap.

"I read your book."

"Oh stop" – He waves his hands at her – "You're one of very few people on this Earth have read it."

"It's really nice, I mean, it's a little cheesy…"

"Cheesy? R, it's romance, it's supposed to be cheesy."

"As I was saying" – They share a laugh – "I can't help feeling that you built the girl character on me."

"What makes you think it's you?"

"Well" – She looks away and tilts her head aside – "Her height is below average, she's brunette, she has a male cat named Barbra" ("A lot of people name their male cats Barbra" – she gives him a _really?_ look) "She likes eating cinnamon ice cream…" ("I like eating cinnamon ice cream too") "and she has my nose."

"Wow, okay, guilty as charged!"

"It's really strange, seeing yourself through somebody's eyes, you know?" – She takes a sip of the hot coffee and brushes her lips with the back of her hand, he sees the brown drop at the corner of her lovely lips – "Do you really see me that way?"

"Yes."

"You must have loved me so much back then." – She smiles at him, and he's turning with mad with love again at just the mere sight of her face.

"You have no idea".

**iv.**

"Where are we going again? I don't really have much time."

"My favorite store in Paris, R, you won't believe it!"

They walk together, as two wanderers with their skins soaking in the sunlight of Paris, occasionally stealing glances and let their fingers brush against one another. He playfully nudges at her side from time to time and she squeals before pinching his nose as an act of vengeance.

She's changed – so much. She seems to be so calm now, wise and versed in her words as well as her actions. She's no longer his little Rachel with a horrible temper; what left in her may be an echo from the past, from a bedazzling affair that his poet heart sometimes weeps for its beauty, but he knows he'll turn mad if he doesn't love her. Loving her is his nature. He has chosen to love her from the very beginning, and he always tells himself, there is no Rachel he would not love.

They're walking on the river bank when he sees it.

Rachel could never be more beautiful than she is right now, with brown hair cascading down her back, her smooth skin is irresistibly sweet, her eyes twinkling, sweat on her forehead, and the water is sparkling magnificently. He sees her as 10, 16, 17, 18 and he swims in the memories, in secrets, in rain and in the overwhelming scent of August flowers when they made feels as if his heart were going to burst if he doesn't do something – waves of emotions clamoring.

"Hey R."

"Yeah?" – She stops, tucking her hair back as a wind blows pass them.

He looks behind her to see the sun slowly setting on the river whose surface has turned golden and smiles at her.

"I still remember everything."

"What?" – She tilts her head to the left, her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"I still remember everything, that night, and the night before. And every night before that."

"_Que c'etait loin, tout cela(_All of that is so far away now_)_!"

"Don't you?"

"Of course I do. I also remember we had sex twice that afternoon."

**v.**

"Wow, Finn! This is so lovely!"

The music store is a little shop in an untapped small street of rue Saint Martin, not so far away from the busy avenue of Paris. Dangling from the ceiling are strings of old broken vinyl records – they make these sparks that always remind him of the sun on the river's surface; on the orange wall are couple of album covers and occasionally an artist's autograph. They have this little glass door room for customers to try out vinyl records, and it gives him this tranquility of having something so close to home in this stranger city.

"Hey look! Bon Iver!" – She squeals as she goes through the stacks of vinyl records. He leans back against one of the shelves and chuckles when she puts a hand over her mouth in disbelief whenever she sees her favorite artists' albums.

"Do you know her?" – She holds up an album and stands next to him.

"Camille? No, not really."

"Boy, you're missing out on too much!"

"_You never watched Doctor Doolittle?"_

"_No, not really."_

"_Boy, you're missing out on too much"._

They're in the stuffy glass door room, listening to the record. She has her eyes closed, back against the wall, arms crossed in front of her chest. He mimics her actions but keeps his eyes open to study the look on her face. When she hears something nice, she'll furrow her eyebrows and a smile will reach her lips, she'll let her arms rest against her sides and her fingers will tap along with the beat. They're standing dangerously close, with her shoulder touching his, their fingers brushing against each other's.

She opens her eyes and turns to look at him, smiling, sighing and rests her head against the wall, nudges his shoulder with her nose. He chuckles and strokes her hair; his poor heart starts beating so fast against his wishes and he bends down to kiss her.

Their lips brush lightly against each other's; but it's enough for him to bring back all the scented memories. He has kissed these lips before – from time to time – and he knows there will never be another pair of lips that could thrill him more.

He's about to deepen the kiss when the glass door swings open and a man quickly apologizes in French before awkwardly steps out.

Rachel looks at him and pulls away before sighing and walking as quickly as she can out of the store.

"Hey, R, wait up!"

"What happened was nothing, okay? I have a boyfriend, god I knew this would be a mistake!"

"R…"

"No, don't R me! RACHEL!"

"Rachel…"

"Just, I have to go to the airport in less than 20 minutes! I have to go home and grab my luggage. What were you thinking? We have one afternoon left and this is what you do?" – She's still walking forwards, not looking at him once.

"You came to Paris to see me, didn't you?"

"Well yes! What do you want me to say? That I've been regretting my decisions and I've missed you and I never thought I'd remember that last day with you more than what I've done last year?"

"What?" – He stops her in her tracks and puts both his hands on her shoulders – "You do?"

"Of course I do" –She looks at him now, but pushes his hands away softly – "But I don't think I can make it work."

They continue walking side by side as the sky's gradually turning into a deep shade of pink.

"I think this is what we do best. Running into each other every 7 year and talking and walking around European cities, in warm climate. Just like the movie."

"Before Sunrise? In Vienna?"

"The sequel."

"Before Sunset?"

"Yeah."

"That's depressing."

"No, it's not. It's what we're meant to do. We cross paths once in a while and keep that time we had for ourselves, and that'll be it." – She stops to look around and tugs at his sleeve – "Where are we heading?"

"Rachel, look. Don't you think this is our second chance?"

"Don't be silly, Finn. This happens on purpose, okay?"

"Think about it, R!"

"We have one afternoon together, that's all."

"We have one afternoon to find out if we belong together or not."

"You're a writer."

"You're a photographer. We both crave romance and freedom."

"That has nothing to do with anything." – She laughs and taps his nose lightly – "We're not meant to be, Finn."

"Are you sure?"

"You'll hate me, you may not know it now but you will. I'll hate you, that's for sure. We have nothing in common."

"Don't mess with my head girl, let's go this way" – He touches her wrist to guide her – "Look, all I'm saying is I think we have been given a really good chance by whomever up there and if I don't use it, I'll be doomed."

"Why are we walking towards the touring boat?"

"This is a faster way to take you to your apartment at Rue de Merignan."

**VI.**

They're standing at the back of the boat next to each other, letting the warm breeze kiss their skin and mess with their hair. None of them has said a word – they just stand there and he breathes in the smell of Paris in June.

"Are you still mad about me kissing you?" – He says finally, without looking at her.

"I didn't protest, did I?" – He thinks he hears the smile in her reply.

"Are you happy with Henry?" – He turns to look at her in the brown sunlight.

She remains silent and keeps her eyes forward for a moment before speaking up:

"We have our moments, you know. We'd spend some nights at a park and just lying on the grass, gazing at the stars. We'd travel and take these amazing pictures and we'd make love so tenderly in a room during the sunset." – She sighs and continues speaking in a much lower voice – "But there's always something missing. I always crave for something more." – She chuckles and hides her face in one hand – "I sound like a horrible person by saying this but I secretly wish it was a different person sometimes."

"It's not horrible. You know, I have those thoughts too. I mean, my last girlfriend – we dated for 11 months – is a great French girl. Very pretty, smart and witty. And there's this one time, we were watching the sunset from the Eiffel Tower, and suddenly…" – He puts a hand over his chest – "I felt so uneasy, you know, so uncomfortable. And I turn to look at Leila, and I felt like I'm ten thousand miles away from her, you know…"

"Yeah."

"And I …" – He rubs his forehead and sighs – "I wished it had been someone else, you know."

_I wish it had been you._

The water is splashing below, glittering the atmosphere with their diamond – like water drops.

"And right now?" – She asks.

He looks at her and his heart is filled with sweetness, he breathes in the very distinctive scent of her skin – now mixed with Paris's sunlight – and answers her with all the truthfulness there could ever be:

"Right now? I'm damn happy."  
She's still looking at him, and before long a smile is present on her lips. A smile, so sweet and tender, that he almost wishes he were a painter to capture all of its essences.

They turn their heads to watch the sun setting in front of them in silence, but Finn breaks it shortly afterwards.

"Hey R?"

"Hmm?"

"You knew that taking a tour boat was actually going to make you miss your flight, right?"

"Yeah".

Finn turns to look at her.

"I knew." - She smiles at him then leans forwards to put both her arms on the barrier and rests her chin on top of her hands.

He watches her while she keeps her eyes forwards, humming a tune he barely recognizes. Finn looks down and smiles to himself before moving closer to her, resting both his arms on the iron barrier of the boat and watches the sunset in silence. The water's still sparkling- trying to get the best of the running away sun. The red and gray rooftops of little houses along the river banks have turned golden, the sounds of kids playing and children's laughter echo through the hot atmosphere of the afternoon. He can hear the romantic sound of an accordion playing "La Vie en Rose", and in the beautifully harmonious song Paris is playing – with the vibration of colors and the dreaminess of sounds, he doesn't miss the steady breathing of a certain brunette among the crowds.

**fin**

**A/N2:**

_I'm tearing up right now guys. I can never thank you enough for anyone who has supported this ff of mine. Thank you __**theluckyclover**__ for always leaving such constructive reviews :) Thank you for loving this fic. To have the privilege of sharing these words and bringing emotions to you is the best experience I've ever had._

_This chapter is the risk I took. I want it to feel real – and I think this is what two people who have experienced such an intense affair should be doing after not seeing each other for years. They catch up and perhaps rekindle their feelings. And "Before Sunset" is an incredible movie, I watched it again for inspirations. I also have the luck to actually went to Paris 2 years ago, I stayed on Rue de Marignan :) _

_And I just want to somehow carry the atmosphere of Paris to this chapter, hope you guys like it! Please, please, please leave me reviews. This is the last chapter, I want to know what YOU think. Happy? Not satisfied? A one shot sequel maybe? :)  
_

_Follow me on Tumblr , __**mochainthesun **__and feel free to ask questions and leave me prompts. Click on the setting icon at the top left of my page and then click on the "?". I want to try writing prompts, it seems fun (^v^)_

_Once again, thank you_(*≧▽≦)


End file.
